#atm working on part 2 of this bunch!

[annannjay]

little studies of the ofmd cast!

i either forgot how to or have never drawn these charas before so it was a much needed exercise!

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: i said i wouldn’t do requests atm but this was requested by a very dear reader on wattpad and i just couldn’t say no 🙂‍↕️

summary: based on the song by bruno mars; masc rich lawyer!reader, bartender!natasha. nat has blonde hair here (no idea how important that detail really is tbh)

warnings: smut…(a bunch of it, actually — strap usage, fingering, oral (n receiving)), alcohol/being drunk; i think that’s it?

word count: 8.2k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— LOS ANGELES, USA —

Exiting your car that night, you don't expect that, not too long later, you'll have her in your passenger seat. Like your own personal Cinderella, she'll be with you once the clock strikes midnight.

However, your evening doesn't start as fairytale-like as it'll end.

It's been a shitty day. A brutal case you'd been working on for months. As almost always, it entailed dealing with insufferable clients and their enormous egos, biased judges and ruthless opponents, 80-hour weeks and tons of stress — only to lose the case.

It was humiliating, leaving the court room. You'd trailed to your car like a wet dog and sat there, forehead on your steering wheel, for a solid five minutes. Only when you realized that the press was starting to surround your car, you'd pressed the start button and torn down the street.

Let's pretend you didn't hit a trash can on your way out. Maybe that'll make your day look less like a shitshow.

Being the child of two of Hollywood's most successful lawyers, everyone's eyes are on you. News articles, social media backlash, professional rivals that revel in your failure. You can't afford even a single misstep. Yes, in your case, even a lost case is a misstep. It's just more proof, they'll say. That you're only here because mommy and daddy funneled millions into your trust fund before you even turned 18.

You rarely frequent bars, since there never seems to be enough time for that. It's why you usually keep a bottle of whiskey in your office (telling yourself that's completely normal) — but tonight, you don't want to get drunk sitting in silence. Too many thoughts, too many worries. Instead, you pull up in front of LA's most famous bar.

Hollywood elites, business moguls, and the ultra-wealthy. Expensive champagne flows like water, its coloration matching the golden hues of the bars interior. You step inside and, for once, only feel mildly out of place.

You walk across marble floors and approach the bar. Sitting down, you undo the top button of your shirt and watch the woman in front of you turn around.

A bartender, but possibly the most gorgeous one you've ever seen. Blonde hair and a red dress, makeup so flawless you'd never be able to tell she's been working for over six hours now. If you weren't still pissed off about that stupid case, you'd be able to appreciate the sight a lot more, though.

You lean in and almost order a whiskey. But you have that in your office, so you change your mind.

"Just a martini", you mumble, already reaching for your purse. "Stirred."

She studies you with interest, not saying a word. The memory flits through her head — you, in this bar, two years ago. Middle length hair, slicked back, and a suit. Passed out in the corner. You have no idea this happened, as you were completely out of it, but she remembers.

"No 'hello'? 'Good evening'? What's the magic word again?"

You look up and stare at her, your Black Card between your fingers. "Sorry?"

She shrugs and reaches for the mixing glass. Ice clinks, the gin swirling like liquid silver under the bar's lights as she stirs.

"Maybe my expectations are too high", she says and pours the vermouth. "I should be used to people like you."

You raise your eyebrows, your jaw slackening slightly. "People like me?"

"Exactly. Let me tell you something, hotshot", she says, leaning over the bar. "Have you seen who enters this place? Rich people. Snobby people. The upper one percent. You sat your cute little ass down and muttered your order like you're being forced to sit here."

"Well", you say, struggling to find an excuse for your lack of manners, "I had a shitty day, okay? All I want is a few drinks."

"Not too many", she says, finally straining the liquid into the glass. She plucks an olive from its jar and rolls it between her fingers, her eyes on yours, before dropping it into the drink. "You don't hold your liquors too well, do you?"

"What?"

"Not important."

You accept the martini and take a tentative sip. You study her like she studied you, but with an air of irritation. Your day's been miserable enough already. No need for her to pile on.

"Listen", you say, "I'm not really in the mood to talk. I know you bartenders like to play shrink-"

"I prefer the word therapist, but go on."

"But", you say sharply, shooting her a halfhearted glare, "I had a bad day. A really, really bad day. You probably can't even imagine. So just let it go, alright?"

"Understood", she says. Her green eyes, however, twinkle with the kind of mirth that tells you she definitely will not let it go.

Can someone drive you up the wall but also be annoyingly attractive? Apparently. You're experiencing it in that very moment.

The silence lasts exactly two minutes. It's enough time for the bartender to prepare a Bloody Mary and hand it to a different customer, then she turns toward you again. You groan and let your head fall onto the counter of the bar.

"Ouch", you mutter.

"You're like a child", she states. "A petulant little child who didn't get their way. What happened, hotshot?"

"Leave me alone", you mumble, your breath fogging up the smooth surface of the countertop.

"It can't be that bad." She leans in, arms crossed on the counter, and lowers her head so her face is right in front of yours. You dare look at her and immediately regret it. The green in her eyes is sage with specks of seafoam, mint and apple, unfairly captivating.

Then, her breath hits your lips. Sweet and warm, with an undercurrent of mint.

Before you can imagine her bent over the counter in a very different situation, you quickly close your eyes and press your face against the countertop.

"Let me guess", she says, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, "you lost a deal? No, not that. Maybe your shoes don't match your suit? No? Fine. Oh, I got it. Someone had the audacity to say no to you today."

"Truly, fuck you."

"That's a bold thing to say to the woman making your drinks, darling."

You groan and sit up, strands of messy hair blocking your vision. She smirks and brushes them aside.

"This", you say, narrowing your eyes, "is why I don't go to bars."

"Oh, please." She tilts her head. "Me? Harmless."

"Harmless, but annoying. Like a damn housefly."

"How sweet", she says drily. "You know your way around women, huh?"

You give her a deadpan look. She has no clue (or maybe she does — whatever), but you haven't been involved with anyone in over a year now. That is, if you don't count hookups and one night stands and such.

Flirting is also not your strongest suit, but it is hers. You just haven't realized it yet.

"I'm a busy woman", you say. "The only women I see are clients and coworkers."

"Clients, as in...?"

"No." You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. "I'm a lawyer, not a hooker."

"A lawyer?" She smiles and tilts her head. "Wow. That's exciting."

Sarcasm, obviously. You roll your eyes and lean back a little. Good thing the barstool has a backrest, otherwise you'd be on the floor by now.

"Come on. All you do is pour booze into glasses and poke olives with toothpicks."

"Don't forget pouring water into ice cube trays."

She chuckles when you roll your eyes again. Leaning over the counter, she brushes her fingertips against the collar of your shirt.

Your cheeks heat up. She notices the rosy flush in your face and tilts her head, giving a soft hum.

"So, a lawyer", she says. "A lawyer who had a shitty day."

"Precisely."

"A lawyer who definitely isn't a hooker, either. So asking about the price per hour would be pointless."

You pause before exhaling sharply, dragging a hand down your face — exhausted, annoyed, still half-thinking about your case. But then her words settle, her meaning really sinking in, and despite everything, your lips twitch.

You open your mouth, then close it again. Finally, you lift your glass and down your martini. She laughs quietly.

"I'm Natasha", she says. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, hotshot."

"Y/N", you say, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. "Sorry. I'm tired and ready for bed."

"Me too", she says. She slides the empty glass from your fingers and puts it aside. "I assume you meant something else, though."

You let out a laugh and lean back, hands covering your face. You lower them and smile faintly, eyes running up and down her body. The bar covers everything up to her waist, but that doesn't matter. She's beautiful, and so is the dress she's wearing, and the irritation you felt earlier has shifted into something entirely different.

You're not sure whether there's some kind of rule about this — are bartenders allowed to flirt with customers? —, but, truthfully, you don't care. How long has it been since you felt this kind of attraction toward someone? How long has it been since someone flirted with you and you actually felt the urge to flirt back?

It hasn't been years, but it's been more than a while.

You sit there in silence, eyes still locked on Natasha. She leans over the counter and adjusts the collar of your shirt again. Skin peeks through the unbuttoned buttons at the top, her gaze lingering on it for a brief moment.

"Your shift", you say, watching her pull away. "When's it end?"

She glances at her watch. Midnight. "About two hours. Why? Planning to wait up for me?"

"Maybe" You hum, fingers drumming against the countertop. "You could leave early", you then suggest, tentatively, as if expecting her to say no.

But Natasha glances at the other bartender. Her hands move to untie the apron she's wearing, which she tucks under the bar, then she tells her coworker to cover for her. You can see her hesitate, scanning the space, before she walks around the counter to get to your side.

Before you realize what's happening, you're leading her out of the bar. The air is warm outside, but not suffocating anymore. You feel the light breeze — crisper, fresher, thanks to Beverly Hills being closer to the ocean — and breathe in. No overwhelming variety of perfumes and colognes. All you smell is the faint scent of whatever perfume Natasha is wearing.

You lead her to your car. She pauses when she sees the cracked headlight.

"Hit a trash can", you say before she can ask.

"I see." She glances at you, smiling. "I truly hope you won't get me into a car crash tonight, hotshot."

You crack a smile and sigh, running your fingers through your hair. She laughs and squeezes your arm, then moves to sit in the passenger seat.

You spend your first night together.

When you wake up to the sight of her, hair mussed and naked body wrapped up in thin bedsheets, you know there will be more moments like this.

. . .

— NEW YORK, USA —

Two months and a few meetups (dates? hookups?) later, you fly her out to Manhattan.

It was your idea. You'd gotten sick of having to travel to LA all the time, only to leave again days later. Your main residence is in New York, after all, not California. It's where your condo is, your law firm, where you spend a majority of your time.

Natasha agreed without having to reconsider. You didn't even have to mention it'd be one of your private jets, or that your chauffeur Richard would drive her to your place. She had no clue she'd be sipping champagne and testing caviar during the entire flight, and she said yes anyway.

She knows you have money. She knows you'll spoil her. She doesn't expect it, either. It does happen, though, and she does enjoy it a lot.

There's something special about being able to kick off her heels and stretch out on plush leather seats, letting the staff pamper her. With face masks from South Korea and fresh fruit straight from Thailand, the five hours she spends aloft suddenly seem almost too short.

Richard drives Natasha to the condominium you live in. Billionaires' Row is full of luxury buildings, but yours manages to stand out anyway. High ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, a grand porte-cochère. She spots Rolls Royces and Bentleys being parked by valets in pressed suits and subtly raises her eyebrows. It's starting to get out of hand.

In front of the elevator, she's handed a keycard. Richard instructs her how to use it, then she's on her own.

It takes her all the way upstairs into your penthouse, the elevator bypassing every other floor. Then it stops, the doors swish open, and she's in your condo. In your living room, to be more specific.

A fireplace, a stocked bar (top-shelf liquors, because why not), a glass coffee table. The sectional couch in front of her looks like it costs more than a standard car, too. She glances at the dark marble floor beneath her feet — probably from Italy — and takes a few steps into the condo. As soon as she's stepped out of the elevator, the door closes automatically.

Natasha knew you were rich, but goddamn, this is a lot to take in.

She takes another few steps into the living room and listens for any kind of noise. Unsurprisingly, she can't hear anything. The walls are most likely soundproof, so she won't be able to hear you unless she's in the same room.

Walking closer to the fireplace, she finds a note on it. A normal piece of paper, thankfully, not some expensive textured shit. She reads what you wrote and smiles faintly.

Natasha,

I'm in my office to work on a new case. Sorry I wasn't there to personally pick you up. Will make up for it later, I promise.

Lunch is in the fridge. Make yourself at home. I insist.

— Hotshot :)

Once she realizes she's smiling, she quickly shakes her head and puts the note aside.

Make herself at home? No need to tell her twice.

High heels in one hand, she pads through the long hallway and into the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, a huge espresso machine she'll definitely play around with at some time, sleek kitchen furniture. A peek into the fridge tells her you — or your private chef, more likely — made paella. She closes it again and walks into the adjacent dining room.

Some plants that look like small palm trees, a long table for at least 16 people, a New Zealand wool rug.

Boring.

Back to the hallway she goes, the heated floors warm under her bare feet. Up the stairs, then back down, hand sliding over the glass railings. Two bathrooms, both with rain showers, a small wine cellar-like room, a huge balcony with a view of Central Park. Somehow, she ends up on the rooftop (and definitely makes sure to remember the pool there) before finally making her way back inside.

Your bedroom is next, complete with an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. She's seen the other bathrooms already and was, quite frankly, not impressed enough to look at this one as well. Instead, she decides to check out what kind of clothes you wear.

Natasha spins around in the massive space and scans everything. A minibar, a huge mirror, a seating area. It smells like fresh linen and that very same perfume you were wearing when you first took her home not too long ago.

Two months, she recalls. It's only been two months, and you're already whisking her away whenever you want.

She drags her hand along one of the black walnut shelves, inspecting handmade leather shoes and rows of accessories. Ties, watches, rings. She stops and eyes the tailored suits. Her hand moves to the back of her dress, fumbling with the zipper and pulling it down, then she lets the thin piece of fabric fall to the polished floor.

She steps out of the dress that's pooled around her feet and reaches for a crisp button-down. She puts it on and inspects herself in front of the mirror, then grabs some niche Parisian perfume from your fragrance collection. A spritz behind her ear, one on her wrist...

"Having fun?"

Natasha whips around and stares at you. You're leaning against the doorframe, trying to hide your smile. Despite being at home, where you should be comfortable enough to let loose for a little, you're in a suit. Your hair, however, is messy. A strand partially blocks your vision.

It took you ten minutes to find her. You didn't expect to walk in on her half-naked, barefoot, only wearing one of your shirts. Are you complaining, though? Absolutely not.

"You told me to make myself at home."

"So you did."

"Exactly."

"That's good." You push off the doorframe and stroll into the room. "Not gonna say hi?"

She meets you halfway, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck. Lips brush against yours, a fleeting contact, and your hands rub her waist. "Hi", she mumbles.

"Hey", you whisper, kissing her. First quickly, then a little more deeply. Your hands run up her sides, letting her shirt ride up, and you feel smooth warm skin under your palms. You pull away only to trail kisses along her jaw. "Missed you. How long have you been here?"

Natasha closes her eyes, her fingers raking through your short hair. "About an hour. Lonely?"

"It's a big apartment."

"Penthouse."

"Whatever", you mutter, catching her mouth again. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her underwear and play with the lace. "Did you have lunch? The paella — I had it made for you."

"I wasn't hungry", she says, speaking in between kisses. "They served all kinds of stuff on my flight. First time trying mangosteen."

"Mhm, my favorite." You squeeze her waist before letting go of her. Walking further into the room, you pick up her dress from the floor and toss it over your shoulder. Her scent hits you, faint and sweet and familiar already. "Listen, I got another meeting in about an hour. Shouldn't take too long, though. You good here or should I ask Richie to give you the tour? He'll take you anywhere as long as it's not somewhere up in the clouds. Poor dude's got a fear of heights."

Natasha lingers where you left her, arms crossed over her chest. She watches you adjust things she never would've noticed are different: pushing the perfume bottle backwards the tiniest bit so it's perfectly aligned with the others, running your hand over the stack of button-ups to remove a crease she wouldn't be able to spot with a magnifying glass, nudging one of the shoes she touched.

"No", she says absently. "I'd rather stay here and wait."

"Whatever you want." You turn around and walk back to her. You wrap your arm around her waist and lead her out of the walk-in closet, faces inches apart, a smile on your lips. "I'd show you around, but I feel like that's pointless."

Natasha rolls her eyes and laughs, tugging at your shirt. You feel her lips against yours, the touch brief but charged with electricity. "You told me to make myself at home, so I did. Can't blame me for that."

"Not blaming you. Just happy you felt comfy enough to rummage through my clothes."

"I didn't 'rummage' through them."

"Oh no?" You grab the hem of the button-up she's sporting and smirk. "What's that, then?"

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she cups your face and pulls you into a deep kiss.

It's the first time in over three years that you cancel a meeting.

. . .

The rug you're on is soft and fluffy, the fireplace next to you way too hot for a September morning.

Sleep-warm skin and cashmere blankets, a half-empty bottle of wine left next to the coffee table. Natasha wakes, blinking lazily, and stretches her arms. You turn just enough to be able to kiss her forehead.

"Morning", you mumble.

"Morning", she replies, hands moving to your chest. Fingertips dance over bare skin, then she starts buttoning up your shirt. "We slept in."

"Yeah", you say, still tired, and lay back down. "Fuck. I have so much work to do."

"No, you have me to do."

"Obviously. Top priority."

Her hands splay out on your chest and smooth out the fabric of your shirt. She leans in, plush lips on your jaw, kisses that are warm and a little too arousing. It's 9 in the morning, and you need to get your ass off the floor and into the office.

However, there is a pretty, naked lady next to you, and that is much more enticing than a desk chair and a meeting with a bunch of old people. And her mouth is all over your skin, her hands starting to roam your body, and fuck it, maybe you can cancel again. Just one more time.

"Dammit", you curse, nails raking down her back. "You're costing me a shit-ton of money, baby."

"You have enough money as it is", she mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. Your arms wind around her. "There's only one woman in your arms, though. Your choice."

You hum, nose buried in her messy hair. Her kisses against your neck start to become wetter, more urgent, her hands squeezing and squishing every part of you she can reach. You moan and she knows she's convinced you.

You hastily take off your shirt and push all the blankets aside, then hold her close before rolling over. You're on top now, where you want to be, and start trailing hickeys along her throat. Her fingers run through your unruly hair and mess it up further.

Palms squeeze and run over smooth skin. Your hand kneads her thigh before moving between her legs. Wet heat against, then around, your fingers. You thrust in and out slowly, rhythmically, and listen to the way her breathing gets heavier.

Face buried in the crook of her neck, you leave lazy kisses on her skin. Slender fingers tug at your hair, insistently, telling you to go faster.

The fire next to you crackles, but it's nowhere near as hot as the space between you. Heavy breathing and muffled moans, fingers curling and nudging deeper. Your thumb circles her clit and you hear a little whine. Natasha comes around your fingers, clenching and unclenching, and you bite back your own moans.

"Shit", she mumbles, slumping into the rug again.

"Yeah." You lift your fingers to your mouth and quickly lick them clean. "I still got work."

"Breakfast first?"

A knock on the doorframe makes you both whirl around. Your eyes land on your private chef slash maid, who's got her eyes covered with her hand. You can see the timid look on her face, anyway.

"Sorry", she says. "I waited until you were...done. I made breakfast and didn't want to disturb you, Ms. Y/L/N. Also, Mr. Pasini is waiting for you."

"Linda", you say, grabbing a blanket and covering both you and Natasha with it. You're so aghast you don't even know what to say. "That's, uhm- that's good. Give us a minute? Please?"

She nods, stepping away and bumping into a potted plant.

"Of course. My apologies, Ma'am. I'll be in the kitchen."

The second she's gone, Natasha starts laughing. You narrow your eyes at her, but the smile on her face is too infectious to not crack one as well. You sigh and melt into her. A kiss is placed on her cheek.

"Alright, laugh it up."

She smirks and jabs a finger into your side. "Come on, that was hilarious. Does she usually stalk you like some creep?"

"No", you say firmly, sitting up and putting on your shirt. Your fingers tremble slightly as you button it up. "She doesn't. And she didn't 'stalk us', she just heard we were finished and came to inform me about breakfast."

"Sounds believable enough, hotshot. You're sure she doesn't have a secret crush on you?"

"She's 58 and married, dummy." You get up and look for your underwear. "I promise, she's just a sweet lady who helps my blood sugar spike. Try her madeleines, they're godly."

Natasha hums and gets up, still butt naked. She grabs her lace panties and the shirt she stole from you the night before and puts both on. You, one leg in your slacks and the other hovering in the air, watch her with wide eyes as she makes a beeline for the kitchen.

"Wait-"

"Breakfast", she says, unbothered, and adjusts her hair a little. "Hurry your pretty little ass up or all the madeleines will be gone."

The exaggerated French accent she used to pronounce the pastry makes you roll your eyes. You hurry to get into your pants before following after her, zipping up and fastening the button.

"You're naked!"

"Anything that could be considered inappropriate is covered."

"I can see your butt."

She glances at you over her shoulder, strolling into the kitchen. Linda glances at her, but doesn't seem too surprised by the sight. Instead, she plates breakfast for you. Avocado on sourdough toast, freshly squeezed juice, Eggs Benedict, buttery madeleines, some cappuccino.

As soon as she's done, she tells you to enjoy your meal. You catch the small smile on her face as she leaves the room to go on about her duties.

"You were right", Natasha says, sitting on a chair with her foot propped up on the seat. "These are godly."

"Told you", you say absently, scrolling through your work-related emails. "The best. Dip them in the cappuccino."

She hums, eating in silence and watching you respond to emails and texts. Her leg stretches out under the table to bump against yours. Then, she rests it in your lap. You squeeze her calf, eyes locked on your phone.

"Hey", you mumble, sliding your hand further down her leg and tapping her ankle, "how would you feel about a slight change of plans?"

"Hm?" Natasha tilts her head, a half-finished glass of orange juice in her hand.

You turn around and show her the email. She leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, and reads it.

"I said we'd spend the next two weeks here, but I gotta go to Tokyo. Work-stuff. Want to tag along?"

"Tokyo?" She looks up. "Just like that?"

"Yeah. Like I said, work-stuff."

She smiles faintly, then shrugs. "Sure. Why not."

"Great."

"All of this is normal, right?"

"What?"

"Forget it, hotshot." She gets up and kisses your temple. "See you in a minute. I have to try that rain shower before we leave."

The urge to get up and follow her like a lovesick puppy is strong. But then your phone buzzes, announcing another email, and you sigh as you realize you'll have to wait a bit longer.

. . .

— TOKYO, JAPAN —

You order the sushi in near-perfect Japanese.

Natasha leans into your side. Clad in the off-shoulder black dress with the deep neckline that you got her right after your arrival, she's been turning heads all night long. Her fingers toy with the shimmering necklace you put on her, oblivious to the 18k white gold's worth, and her eyes roam the restaurant's interior.

"Fancy", she whispers once the server has dashed off. "I wanted to come here for a while."

"This restaurant? I've been here a couple times."

"No, dummy. Japan. Tokyo." She smiles and looks at you. You flush under her gaze and nudge her cheek with your nose. Her hand cups your cheek, thumb against your lips, and you press a kiss to it. "You need to get out of your bubble more, you know."

"What bubble?"

"This bubble. Not every experience has a Michelin star, or costs a couple thousand bucks. There's more to life than just fancy dinners, hotshot."

You hum, studying here. There's a truth to her words that stings. You're privileged, and you know it, but your lifestyle and career make everything about you and everything you do so different. The way you live traps you in a bubble you either can't or won't escape, which limits the things you experience.

Natasha is the best example for that. You may have been lucky enough to run into her, sure, but only because of a coincidence. Again, you don't go to bars. You don't go out with friends, or even colleagues. You spend your Friday nights sitting at your desk with a dozen files opened on your laptop. Maybe you'll drink some whiskey or fall asleep ten minutes into a movie, too, but that's about it.

"You'd rather I take you to McDonald's tomorrow?", you ask, trying to deflect. She tilts her head. "Okay, okay. Not a fan of the clown. Got it."

"You know what I mean", she says, hooking a finger into the collar of your shirt. "Saving up for another car, or jet, won't make you happy."

"I know", you say earnestly. "It's why I got you. To spend that money on you instead. Now — sake or umeshu?"

"Oh, no. Wait. Did you just-"

"I'll spoil you rotten", you say, quickly pecking her lips, "and get happy in return. You make me happy. Now tell me what drink you want."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue. It's not like she doesn't like the whole princess treatment you've been giving her ever since your first night together, after all. She enjoys it maybe even too much.

You enjoy it, too. Before her, all you knew was work and lonely beds. Pleasure mostly came from meaningless one night stands, never lasting longer than a couple hours, or — a classic — your own hand.

It's different now. You get to satisfy someone else, someone who's interested in you, who makes you smile, who's pretty. You can spoil her all you want. Dresses, champagne, jewelry, spontaneous trips to the most gorgeous places on earth. In return, she makes you happy. There's not even much she has to do to achieve that. You appreciate it a whole lot, anyway.

Her breath fans your ear, lips tickling your skin. You exhale sharply, silently, and close your eyes.

"Sake, please", she mumbles, voice sultry and soft. Her hand runs down your front, deliberately brushing against the buttons of your shirt, before coming to rest on your thigh. "And you. Sake and you."

. . .

Being in another country usually means vacation.

Not for you, though. You've been stuck behind your desk for over an hour now. Keyboards clack, the a/c hums, bedsheets rustle. In front of you are floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying Tokyo's skyline. Thousands of lights in every color imaginable adorn tall buildings, creating a sea of neon. Billboards and pulsing nights, and streets that never seem to sleep.

You're not sleeping, either. And neither is Natasha. While you're tapping a pen against your knee before responding to an email, she keeps rolling over in bed and trying to fight boredom.

You briefly glance at her. Only in a silk robe that hugs her curves and leaves little to the imagination, it's getting increasingly harder to not just call it a day and join her.

You turn to your laptop again and bite back a sigh. Another email popped up, this time by one of your employees, so you click the reply symbol and start typing. Right as you hit send, you feel a familiar pair of hands on your shoulders. You close your eyes when her palms slide down to your chest.

"Hey", she murmurs, warmth breath fanning your ear. Her lips press against your nape, then the side of your neck. "Still working?"

"It won't end. I just keep getting new emails."

She hums, continuing to trail hot kisses along your neck. Her fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, slowly undoing them. "You need to relax a little, you know. Forget about work and come to bed with me."

"Emails", you protest. Natasha smiles against your neck. Her hands move down to yours on the keyboard, gently peeling them off. "I need to finish this. It's important. Seriously."

No response. Heat shoots into your lower belly when she sucks on your pulse point. She runs her hands up your arms and to your biceps, squeezing the muscles there, then she slides the shirt off your shoulders. Fingers dance across your skin, trace your chest and your stomach, before teasing the waistband of your pants.

"I want you to fuck me", she rasps into your ear. "Show me I'm important, too."

Of course she's important. More important than the emails, more important than anything else. Can you say it, though?

No. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a quiet whine. You hear the laptop in front of you being shut. Natasha pulls at the back of your chair and swivels it around, your eyes opening automatically.

The sight is godly. She's standing between your legs, her robe thin and enveloping her body like a second layer of skin. You catch a glimpse of the bra she's wearing, black lace showing through the open top of the robe, and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch her.

You cave. Fingers find the end of the silk sash around her waist to give it a deliberate tug. The robe comes open and reveals creamy skin and black lingerie.

"When did you..."

"You left your credit card when you went downstairs to pick up those files", she says, fingers trailing along your jaw. Her hand cups your jaw. "Thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Credit card fraud", you say, both amused and turned on. "Theft, too. Dammit."

"You like it, though."

Oh, you do. You can't even be mad. There's more than enough money on your bank account, and truthfully, purchases like this one benefit you both.

You put your hands on her waist and get up. Her body is flush with yours, her breath fanning your lips. You kiss her, tasting strawberries and sake, and trace the seam of her lips with your tongue. Her mouth opens, letting you deepen the kiss, and you swallow her moans.

Bodies up against the window, the heat between you fogging up the glass. Natasha's robe falls to the floor, and you start trailing kisses over her shoulder and chest. You pull away for a split second to drink her in. With the backdrop of the city's lights — bright and flickering and reflecting off her skin — you're once again proven that she's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

The clasp of her bra comes undone easily. You push the straps off her shoulders, let the tiny piece of clothing slide off, then your mouth is attached to her body again. Hands squeeze and grope her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples, before running down her sides.

You hear a soft thud when her head falls back against the window. Breathy moans and mhh-sounds, nimble fingers raking through your hair. You lick a stripe over her breast and suck her nipple between your lips. Pushing aside the fabric of her panties, you find her cunt. Her pussy is soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease.

"Fuck", she moans, tugging at your hair. "Baby, slow down."

You look up, not able to speak through the mouthful of boob. She looks down at you, panting, and brushes some hair away from your forehead.

You don't want to slow down. Not now, not when she's looking at you like this, still wearing the panties she bought with your money, standing in the suite you payed for. She makes you happy. She chases the loneliness away. You want to give her everything, the entire world, and that includes a night filled with orgasms.

Holding eye contact, you thrust your fingers into her. Her hips buck to chase the feeling. Moans fill the space around you, whiny and needy, and her hips rut against your hand with more fervor.

Your mouth releases her breast. You litter it with kisses and hickeys, still fucking her with your fingers. You slowly sink to your knees to bury your face against her stomach, leaving kisses there as well, and continuing pumping your fingers in and out of her. Slickness covers your hands, dripping down your wrists, and Natasha meets every thrust.

"I'll buy you everything", you moan. "Anything. Whatever you want."

"Bribing me?" She tries to laugh, but it comes out strained. She grinds against your hand, forcing you in deeper. You nudge that spongy little part and hear another moan. "I'm not your trophy, you know."

"No." You kiss along her lower stomach, your free hand gripping her thigh. Your movements become quicker, harder, feeling her walls clench around you in desperation. "Never said you were."

Natasha wants to respond, but in that moment, she can't. She lifts one leg and hooks it over your shoulder, letting herself take you wholly. Goosebumps and kiss-bitten lips, hickeys and flushed skin. Your fingers curl, your lips wrap around her clit, and her body tenses up.

You feel her orgasm as if it were your own. Intense, all-consuming, wiping every thought from her brain. She keeps riding your hand until it all becomes overstimulating, then you pull out.

Looking up, the sight of her disheveled state brings a smirk to your face. She pinches your bottom lip.

"Ow. What's that for?", you ask, her fingers lingering on your mouth.

"You're getting cocky."

"Am not."

"You definitely are. Get up, hotshot."

You grumble and kiss her fingertips, but do as told. Natasha leans in to kiss you, her hands fumbling with the zipper on your slacks. She walks you backwards, pushes you onto the bed, straddles you. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, tangled from Natasha's earlier tossing and turning.

There's not much time to think about any of that, though.

. . .

— RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL —

A private pool that seems to spill out into the ocean below. A plate of fruit sits on the edge, the papaya and mangoes long forgotten about, with two empty coconut shells next to it.

Aside from the lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees, only your soft moans fill the air. Her hands on your shoulders and yours on her hips, you guide her up and down the strap rhythmically. She looks down, watching the girthy piece of silicone through the water. How its full length disappears inside of her, again and again, blurred by the water you're in.

Another moan. You lean in and press your lips to her collarbone, tasting sunscreen and something sweet. Her fingers mess up your hair and slide back down to your shoulders, fingernails raking over your skin and leaving marks.

"I'm close", she whimpers, hips rotating on the strap. You guide her every movement, pushing the toy in as deep as you can. You watch stupidly how her body moves on it.

"Sound like it, too", you rasp. After almost a year of this, you know every telltale sign. "Open wider, baby."

Her thighs part just the tiniest bit more, but it's enough for her clit to rub against the base of the harness. Her head drops forward, forehead resting against yours, and she cries out quietly.

"Fuck, I-"

"Almost there." You rub her sides and watch her ride harder, pushing herself over the edge. Once the climax has lost most of its intensity, she collapses against you. "Holy."

"I feel like we should stop. For our neighbors' sake."

You laugh and kiss her bare shoulder. You're both completely naked, thanks to the pool being directly attached to your suite. No one can see you, but you're sure many people can hear you.

"Need a break already?", you tease.

"No, hotshot", she replies, nuzzling your neck with her face. "I just want to enjoy this for a moment. No distractions."

This. You and her, intertwined, doing nothing in particular. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does, anyway.

Neither of you know where this is going. You don't know whether this is just going to end someday, or whether you actually have a shot at making it. But, truthfully, you don't know what 'making it' would entail, either.

Natasha also doesn't know. She still doesn't know whether you feel the same as her. Whether you're in as deep as she is. Maybe she is exactly what she fears most to be — a trophy. Someone you don't feel anything real for.

You don't talk about it. Starting a conversation like that is risky, because the worst case scenario is everything falling apart.

In the beginning, it was fun. It was passionate and indulgent, a sexy fantasy. It was all about sex and money and pouring champagne like it's water.

Then, feelings came into play. You're not sure whether that's ever ended well.

. . .

— PARIS, FRANCE —

"God, you're obsessed."

You look up, still kneeling on the floor with a high heel in your hand. You give her a deadpan look.

"Keep that up and you're sleeping on the balcony tonight. Now give me your foot."

"I'm just saying. You, on your knees for me? Should've rented out the jewelry store instead."

"What?... Oh. Ha. Uhm-"

Natasha laughs and does as told. You shake your head, cheeks pink and warm, and slide the heel onto her foot. You make sure it fits right and then hum in approval.

Aside from the two of you, the changing room is empty. In fact, the entire store is. You rented it out for the next few hours, making it easier for Natasha to look at clothes and try them on without being bothered.

"Not bad", she says, resting her leg over your shoulder. You turn your head and kiss her calf. "Maybe in another color?"

"Which one? Black, maybe? Or lilac? Those would look nice with that dress you-"

"Y/N", she cuts you off, "this one's fine. Really. I like it."

You give her a skeptical look, but she just raises her eyebrows at you. She seems to be telling the truth, so you squeeze her ankle before moving her leg off your shoulder. Straightening up, you reach for another dress.

Natasha grabs it and steps into the fitting room. She returns not too long after, and the sight renders you speechless.

A deep red gown, its fabric hugging every curve just right. The silk cascades down her body and pools at her feet, but the long slit at the side keeps it from looking too modest. Your eyes land on the plunging sinful neckline, then trace the delicate straps framing her shoulders.

She steps in front of the mirror and studies herself. In this lightning, the dress looks like molten wine clinging to her skin. You finally look up and catch her gaze in the mirror. Paired with the faint smirk, the timeless dress becomes something entirely different.

Dangerous. Unfair.

Heat crackles between you. You swallow heavily, eyes locked on the sight, fingers twitching and want throbbing in your body.

"You're staring."

You swallow again. "You're in that."

"I am."

Your hands ball into fists. You shift and try crossing your legs, but when she runs a hand down her side, it's over. You step closer, unable to stop yourself at this point. Your hands find her waist, your lips hover next to her ear. Then, you press a kiss to her earlobe.

Your hands wander further up her body, cupping the swell of her breasts. You toy with her hardened nipples, which are barely concealed by the dress's thin fabric. Natasha moans and leans into you.

"We're in a store."

"We're alone."

"The employees..."

"The employees won't come in unless we call them", you assure her, voice a strained mumble. Your fingers tug at the neckline of her dress until her chest is revealed, then you tuck the fabric under her breast. "Look at you. Fuck."

Her head drops against your shoulder. You kiss her neck, bared to you, and cup her breast. Your free hand runs down her body, finding the slit of her dress and dipping underneath it.

"Move the dress?", you mumble.

One hand on the back of your head, Natasha pulls the skirt of the dress aside until you can see everything clearly. Her thighs, her lingerie, the garter belt. Creamy skin, adorned by the faintest of stretch marks. Your face has been buried between those very thighs dozens of times by now, but you'll never get sick of the feeling.

You run your fingers over her underwear. It's soaked.

"That was quick."

"Really? You'll make fun of me now?"

"No, baby." You kiss her shoulder and pull away, only to step around her and get on your knees again. This time, for an entirely different reason. You hold onto her thighs and look up. Her breathing is slightly uneven. "This okay?"

"Anything else wouldn't be okay", she replies. You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pull it down. It drops to the ground and gives you a full view of her cunt. Hand on the back of your head, she guides you closer.

You bury your face between her legs and immediately feel the slick heat. It coats your cheeks, your tongue, letting you taste the tangy sweetness you've grown familiar with. You grip the backs of her thighs for more support and run your tongue through her folds.

Natasha feels every touch, every movement. She grips your hair to keep herself from falling over, nails digging into your scalp. You eat her out surrounded by mirrors, letting her see every angle of what you're doing to her.

. . .

Hand in hand, you walk down Avenue Montaigne.

The sun is beaming down at you, making the street look even more fairytale-like than it already is. Tall buildings, brick walls, trees lined up on either side of the road. You squeeze her hand.

"What's next?", you ask, looking at her. "Perfume? Maybe a purse?"

Natasha tilts her head. There you go again, asking about things that should be irrelevant. Things that, if she's being honest, never were relevant. All of this extravagance is fun. Being flown around in private jets, traveling the world, getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it — she enjoys it, no doubt.

But is that all she wants?

Of course not. In fact, it’d be a lie if she said it ever was.

From that first night in the bar, she wasn't trying to find someone who'd drown her in money. Otherwise, she would've found someone like that ages ago. The bar she worked in was one of the most prestigious in all of Los Angeles. It would've been easy to pick a random person and make them fall for her.

She didn't want that, though. She stuck to dating literally anyone else to avoid ending up as a trophy, as someone who isn't anything else but something to make her partner look good.

Then, you stumbled in. Not once, but twice. Everything about you was painfully similar to the other people sitting in that same bar that night, but you were also completely unlike them.

Everything about you screamed money. The stupid suit, the Black Card, the way you talked to her. But you weren't snobby. She'd known that from the first time she saw you there — when you got so drunk you passed out. Everyone else cares about their reputation, their public image, but you let yourself get black out drunk.

You returned. You sat down right in front of her. She took one look at your face pressed against the counter, hair a mess, and knew she'd love whatever is hidden underneath that hated suit you were wearing.

Your hair is always a mess. Even now, walking down the street in Paris's most luxurious shopping street, you look like you got caught in a storm. Short, unruly strands, some blocking your vision, others hastily tucked behind your ear.

Natasha stops in the middle of the street. She leans in and kisses you.

Another indulgence or something sincere — she doesn't know. Maybe she doesn't want to know.

"No more shopping", she says. You give her an unsure look. "Please."

"Okay", you mumble. You continue walking.

Her instruction should be simple enough to follow. No more shopping, no more expensive clothes, no more Michelin starred food. But how does someone who's spent their entire life surviving on money, and gifts, and everything material, suddenly change their ways? It's your form of affection.

It's more difficult than it should be.

You keep walking. You don't pay the big designer brands any mind.

That is, until you pass Chaumet.

A French jeweler specializing in refined pieces, romantic pieces. Jewelry with meaning.

Your eye catches the engagement rings. Natasha follows your gaze.

For a moment, neither of you move. Do you really have what it takes?

You look at her. She brushes the hair away from your eyes. Your hand squeezes hers once more.

A bell rings, a door closes.

It's your last big purchase of the day.

[greyyson-but-wrong]

ALIBIS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: the winter solider, canon accurate civil war, violence, fighting, swearing, a single sentence hinting that they've fucked in the past lmao, hydra mention, partly edited

summary: you've been living with bucky for the past year, now he's been accused of assassinating the king of wakanda and of course they bring you in as well, but nobody knows who exactly you are

author notes: guys... this isn't a part 2 I actually have no motivation to write that atm icl so have this instead. I'm being so fr I could change one detail about this and have it be part of the same storyline as my previous work but I cba cause then there'll be a bunch of missing context :( hope you enjoy this!!!

word count: 4.6K

"Who the hell is that?"

Tony Stark didn't recognise the woman as he took a peak through the glass of the cell, index finger pointed towards her before moved backward to pinch at his lips. She was perched on the edge of the small bench they had given her, book in hand, leaning forward with her elbows resting against the skin of her thighs. For having just been arrested under the suspicion of harbouring a fugitive, the woman didn't seem too worried, too off-put or irked. She just simply sat there, breathing steady. At the change in scenery outside her window, she looked up only temporarily, the corners of her lips curving upward at the sight of the Iron Man, fingers leaving the paper of her book to wag her fingers in a wave. Tony's eyebrows furrowed at her actions. Suspicious. That's all she was.

Steve moved his eyes from the woman to look towards Tony, hands dug in his pockets, fiddling with the spare lint caught off the inside fabric. "She, is his alibi."

"Come again?"

The solider tilted his head, watching the woman as she went back to innocently reading her book, still as if she wasn't currently in a holding cell under the detainment of the American government. "She's been giving him a home for a year now, feeding him, keeping him stable, stopping him from becoming the Winter Solider."

Tony sighed, lowering his voice. "So why won't she testify again him?"

Steve eyed up the security camera in the corner of the room. It was no doubt someone was watching him on the other side, because while he was an Avenger and allowed somewhat free roaming around the premises, he was still technically a criminal now. They had to have all eyes on him. He had to keep all eyes on her though. "She knows that the government doesn't officially acknowledge the difference between the Winter Solider and Bucky as a person. Until they do that, she's refusing to tell us anything. That includes information about who she is."

"Well, she must have a name."

"She's told us Jane Doe, but, well. We're not stupid." Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "Someone, somewhere has her file, I won't be able to get it for you, though."

Tony Stark shrugs. "I'll get FRIDAY to gather the information about her, for me." He pauses for a second, letting his thoughts gather, letting everything come together in some form. He fiddles with his phone a little, before shoving it back into his pocket, turning to Steve again. "The question is, why is she so protective of him?"

Steve lets out a heavy sigh, eyes moving to watch her. "If only she would tell us."

The glass was soundproof. You knew, because several different groups of people had walked past the locked cell, mouths moving, faces reacting, but you could hear none of it. They had given you a random book to read to pass the time, but you were already about halfway through it and it had only been two hours, by the analog clock that was built into the left wall. The list of people that had walked past ran through in your head in the following order: Maria Hill, Fred the Janitor (he had a mop, so you assumed), a group of lawyers, the Black Widow, Fred the Janitor (again), Agent Ross as part of the CIA, a group of guards who were surrounding T'Challa (who you had made the worst kind of direct eye contact with), a couple more lawyers, then the cherry atop the cake: Captain America and Iron Man. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

It was obvious it was them because well, fuck, who wouldn't have known it was them? They were Avengers, they had saved the world countless times. They were also the reason Bucky had to run and hide with you, rather than in a much safer Witness Protection programme. They were also the reason you were trapped in this holding cell, because Captain America had led the Romanian police force directly to the apartment you had Bucky had been peacefully living in for a year.

The peace died pretty quickly when you had walked into your kitchen to find Steve Rogers standing there, shield in hand, looking at the photo of you and Bucky stuck to the fridge.

They had asked for your name. They had asked for your identification and your history. Perhaps a couple years ago you would have told them, but then all that information was revealed about Shield and Hydra, and now there was no way on God's Holy Earth would you ever trust them nor any government body again. After what Bucky had gone through, after what you had gone through, how could they have led Hydra infiltrate Shield like that? Black Widow thought that the encrypted versions of the files would mean the general public wouldn't be able to gain the information.

But you had been trained by Hydra. You weren't their brawn, you were their brains, so if anyone was going to be able to decrypt that information, it would have been you. When you spent hours scouring through the endless files to find out information about his life, that had been the day you had decided to never trust a government body.

So, no, you weren't going to tell them your name. Then they would look you up. They would find out that you used to work for Hydra and just like they were treating Bucky, they wouldn't understand you had been brainwashed and tricked and tortured to work for them. They would treat you like any other Hydra worker who knew what they had been doing; even though you didn't.

Now you were stuck in this cell, Bucky was nowhere to be seen and therefore probably in some containment centre to stop him from hurting anybody even though he wasn't the Winter Solider anymore. Even though he hadn't become the Winter Solider in months, thanks to the work you had been doing with him. What were you supposed to do? Anything you could talk about or tell anyone, they wouldn't believe it. To them, Bucky was a weapon, something that could hurt and couldn't love, but he did love. He had humour, he had a laugh, a smile, he stops in the middle of the street to stroke stray cats, he gets all soppy at cozy rom-coms and he spends his evenings listening to old Sinatra records.

But they would never see that.

Then Captain America and Iron Man walked in front of the glass. You couldn't help but grin, waving your fingers towards the billionaire. It was public knowledge that Tony Stark was on the side of signing the Accords and that Steve Rogers wasn't. It piqued your curiosity as to how they were able to have a real conversation while having such different beliefs, but that wasn't your main goal. You wanted to confuse them.

The name. Jane Doe, of course it was fake. You had told them it to be confusing, make it clear that you were more than just simply a safe house holder for the Winter Solider. What it would do was bring up all the attention towards you. The Avengers, the CIA, the FBI, whoever was in charge here would spend their time figuring out who the hell you were and why you had been so involved in Bucky's life in the past year. To cause a bit of a ruckus, and a lot of confusion.

Because while they would be doing all of that, Bucky's trial would be put off longer and longer, until your people could prove that the Winter Solider was not the same person as Bucky. You were refusing to talk not just because they didn't understand that simply fact, but you also needed time to gather enough evidence that it would be impossible to dismiss the truth. You were not the Huntress that Hydra had turned you into, and Bucky was not the Winter Solider they had tortured him into becoming. Once they understood that, maybe, just maybe, you had a chance of getting out of here with Bucky and living free with him like you should have been doing for the past year.

Hydra had taught you well. Half of the data was already sat in your lab in Romania, proving that brain mechanics, movement, thoughts and procedures changed whenever he was under the throes of the Winter Solider. Pictures and files dating each time Hydra experimented their brainwashing technology on him. Images of the different machinery, some of them with him in it, some of you working at the nearest computer.

Your work from the past year had taken a lot out of you, but damn was it worth it. Once your people took a look at the final conclusions and sent through the final part of the plan, you and Bucky would be one step closer to freedom.

They bought you in for his evaluation. He was in a glass box, restrained at every possible part of his body, particularly the metal arm. His head was hung, hair falling not-so-graciously in front of his face, masking him. The image was projected onto a giant monitor towards the front of the room, where everyone could see what was happening. They still had you handcuffed, behind your back, something strong, perhaps vibranium so you couldn't get out no matter what. Four guards stood around you, stopping any possible escape plan. But none of them were even on the table unless you knew where to find Bucky and guarantees you got out with him by your side.

To the left of you and the guards stood Tony and Natasha, both on the side agreeing with the Accords. Behind a glass door was Steve and Sam. As his evaluator started speaking, your eyes began to droop. Nobody would take this serious, or how they should.

"Hello, Mr Barnes." A Sokovian accent was the first thing you spotted. Nothing too out of the ordinary but it definitely piqued some form of interest in you for a reason you hadn't yet been able to decipher. "I have been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?" On the screen, he gestured to the chair and desk. When Bucky stayed silent, he sat down, opening up his briefcase that had been placed on the wood of the desk. "Your first name is James?"

Bucky stayed silent again. You knew this would be difficult, and everyone else in the room was beginning to catch onto that point as well.

"Do you know where you are, James?" Again silence. The examinations officer sighed. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

A brief pause. Bucky lifted his head, revealing his face to the officer. He swallowed, lips parting to speak. "My name is Bucky."

In the other room, behind the glass, Steve and Sam, plus a woman that you didn't know the name of yet, started speaking. They all had that look on their face. Curiosity, suspicion, a tint of fear muddled in with the rest. Steve was fiddling with a piece of paper, could have been a photo, but it was difficult to see from the angle the guards had you at.

"Tell me, then, Bucky." He started speaking again, making notes in that little book of his. "You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

Bucky's voice was strained as he spoke, eyes droopy, that fear, that pain having seeped it's way back into his features. The same state of mind that you and him had worked so hard to leave in the past. It was just being dug back up again, unmercifully. "I don't wanna talk about it."

He waved his hands about, barely visible through the screen projection. "You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." He was intentionally poking the bear.

A moment paused. The examinations officer looked down to the left of his notebook to a propped up screen, the camera to far away to read what was visible on the screen. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one." Another second passed, then—

The lights went out.

The next couple moments were a blur. Agent Ross started pacing between different computers, Tony Stark went off to talk to his AI, Natasha had already left the room. Steve had stood up straight at the outage, looking towards the woman and immediately signalling at Sam to following him. Believe me, you tried to stay put, not let anything get any worse than it already was, but Steve clearly knew where Bucky was, and if what you thought was happening was happening, then they needed you. So you spotted as one of the guards slipped, moved out of space for a single second, distracted, and you bled into the shadows, melting away so that no one could follow you. Hydra didn't simply train you with hardware and software, after all.

You slipped through and into the glass room, then again through the door that Steve had just disappeared through. Once you were in a clear corridor with both Steve and Sam at the end of it, you began running after them, pausing for just a single second to use a door handle to break the handcuffs that were restraining you.

Because, of course, the examinations officer wasn't CIA, or FBI, or actually from the UN like he said he had been. You knew you recognised the book, the red leather front and that stupid fucking black star painted on it. Your own fucking writing was in it! How the hell this man had gotten a hold of it, you couldn't figure out, but that wasn't the priority. Right now, the Winter Solider was being summoned, and would be under the control of some random person, who was also probably at the fault of T'Chaka's death too. Only God knew what he was really planning, but Bucky would be at the heart of it and that was the one thing you aimed to stop.

Eventually, you caught up with Steve and Sam. It took them both a while to clock you were running behind them but neither of them cared enough about you in the moment to stop running because you all had the same goal: finding Bucky.

The three of you made it to the entrance of whichever room Bucky had been put into. Steve came to a halt at the seemingly endless pile of bodies on the floor. It was too late. He was already the Winter Solider and he had already hurt people.

Steve turned to you, chin held high. "How the hell did you get out?"

"Slipped away." You shrugged. Steve's lips parted as if to speak again, but you held a hand up, shaking your head. "But that's not what's important right now. Bucky has just become the Winter Solider again, and if we don't get to that man in order to save Bucky again, then we're all going to be in a lot of trouble and not just with the government this time."

He ran a hand over his face but nodded, turning back towards the doorway.

In the middle of the room, Zemo was curled into the floor, shaking. Steve didn't give you nor Sam any chance to do anything, running forward and picking him up, shoving him up against the desk, chin held high as he began to speak. You were so focused on Zemo, that you didn't notice Bucky standing in the corner of the room, shoulders dilating as he panted, fully reformed back into the Winter Solider. You also didn't see as he made a leap towards Steve, shoving him across the room at lightning speed.

At the sound of Steve crashing against the wall, you leaped too, in a way that left your hands rested on his shoulders, readying to pull off. All three of you had the serum, but they were still both men, and Bucky under the brainwashing programme gave him extra strength, no holding back. When his trapezius twitched and his jaw sharpened, you knew he was going to swing behind him, so you ducked, dodging his hand and using the temporary drop in his barriers to reach for his arm, curling it around his back.

His metal arm was still pressing against Steve, so with your hands still keeping his flesh arm behind his back, you leaped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, your other hand moving around him to cover his face. Confusion, distraction, anything that meant Steve could get himself out of the grasp Bucky had him in.

And while Steve did make it out, slipping from his grasp, Bucky caught on far too quickly. He was able to maneuver himself to make you fall, spinning on his feet and falling to his knees as your back hit the ground. He went for your hands, clasping them above your head so there was no way to get out. This position certainly wasn't unfamiliar, but every other time, you knew he would let you go at a signal. The Winter Solider would not listen to a signal. He climbed your body, eyes meeting yours straight forward.

They were pained. A familiar warmth that looked like home but only once you dug deep. On the surface was simply a message, follow the mission, the unfamiliar blue did scare you. The only thing that kept you going was the knowledge that Bucky was in there somewhere, no matter how much it didn't seem like it — Bucky was there. You'd get him out, or die trying.

"Bucky—" You gasped, gaping for breath, trying to get his attention. His, not the Winter Solider. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me."

He simply snarled, teeth bared. You lifted your head to look outside of his gaze, seeing Sam and Steve after Zemo, who had given in not so quickly. Looking back towards Bucky, you met the blue again, letting your head drop to the floor, letting your muscles relax, your breathing beginning to settle as you calmed. If you were calm, then so was he. If he was calm, then so were you. That was the deal. But that did nothing, if anything it worsened the situation, because he removed his metal hand from holding yours, still able to keep you bound with just one, and moved the metal so that it was pressed up against your neck.

Not pushing, not squeezing; just settled. Acting as a warning, to make sure you didn't try anything.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but— everyone calls you Bucky and you can't remember why." You speak, more wary of your breathing than you ever have been before. A quick glance downward, then back up to meet his eyes. "Your favourite singer is Frank Sinatra, but you think musically, Nancy Sinatra did better work. You—" You gasped for air as his fingers twitched around your neck, your words beginning to break through. "There's a cat, you call her Alpine, that always stops at our window and you shouldn't feed her— because she's not our cat, but— you do any way— because you're secretly a softie."

Bucky blinks. Bucky blinks. Not the Winter Solider. The warmth slowly flows towards the front of the blue, that familiarity coming back.

But that's what Steve didn't see. Steve handed Zemo over to Sam to get rid of then turned to see the Winter Solider choking you, so he leaped towards the two of you. The shield bashed against Bucky's side, knocking him over. Just as he was ripped from your sight, you saw the blue darken again, and Bucky was gone.

"He's making his way to the helipad—" Steve spoke, storming in the direction of the mentioned exit, not even sparing you a glance as he passed you.

The fight had gone shit. Sam had been sent after Zemo and had no luck, the man seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth. Everyone had had their turn at Bucky, only making things worse, only escalating things. You had managed to pull Black Widow away from the solider, pushing her to the side and running after Bucky as he fled. Then Iron Man had wanted a turn, half suited and dodging a bullet that Bucky had managed to aim in his direction. Steve had been in and out of everything, and was now on his way to following Bucky as he attempted to escape.

You hadn't seen Steve since he had knocked Bucky away from you in the bunker. Now he was storming away from you and you had some less than pleasant words that he definitely needed to hear. "Steve, I swear to God, what the fuck—" You paused, still walking after him and scoffing as he simply continued walking. "I had him! I had Bucky back and you ruined it! What right do you even have protecting him or me like that?"

It was a stupid thing to say. You knew that him and Bucky had been inseparable during the war, because who didn't? You knew that he was risking his power as Captain America in order to protect Bucky from prosecution.

Steve paused, turning around and finally facing you, pointing an index finger at you in a accusatory act, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Bucky is my best friend and I will do anything to make sure he's safe. So don't bullshit me with who deserves him more, because I don't know a single good thing you've done for him in the past 100 years."

You grit your teeth, fighting off a groan. Just about to reply, movement in your peripheral shifted your attention, seeing the solider swing open the door to a free helicopter. "Steve, quick—"

He followed where you were looking, and at the realisation that there wasn't time for a spat, you both started running, outside and onto the helipad. Bucky knew how to work it, getting the vehicle up in no time. Steve leaped, grabbing the landing skids, attempting to pull it downward. Bucky saw, shifting so the helicopter moved away from Steve. You reached for Steve's spare hand, using your joint strength to further pull the helicopter towards the concrete.

Bucky shouted, again shifting and this time behind successful. The helicopter was dragged towards the edge, Steve dropping your grasp and having no choice but to latch onto the yellow railing around the edge of the helipad.

"Let me help!" You shouted, rushing forward and pulling on his hand, you in turn, starting pulling both Steve and the helicopter away from the direction it was heading towards. Knees pressed against the concrete, you grabbed onto the railing as a fail safe, which eventually came in handy as the helicopter tugged the two of you and Steve away from the ground.

You were dangling in mid-air, hand in hand with the Captain America, attempting and failing to pull Bucky back to the ground. What the fuck? What the actual fuck. Steve caught your eyes, a mouthed 'tug on three, yeah?' You nodded in return, and he began to shout over the whirring of the main motor. "One—" You were latched onto the yellow railing, securing your grip. "Two—" It was a struggle, but it seemed possible. Or at least, you tried to tell yourself that. "THREE!"

Steve pulled, as did you, a sudden, unexpected tug. It sent pressure through the helicopter, a shift that Bucky couldn't predict and therefore couldn't avoid. The vehicle stuttered, and lost momentum, crashing into the side of the railing. Rubble was everywhere, you had lost Steve's hand and he was nowhere to be seen.

The helicopter creaked as it collided with the concrete. Then it slipped, stuttered, and slowly dropped from the ledge, falling into the river below.

Bucky groaned, muscles aching. His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the stern looks of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both with their arms crossed over their chests. He spluttered a cough out, pushing himself to sit up. As the two stayed quiet, Bucky let himself look around the room. Leant against the far brick wall, was your body, limp and still unconscious. At the sight of you, Bucky sat up fully, pushing himself up and moving towards you.

Steve stepped to the left, blocking his path. "Hold it—"

"Let me get to her, Steve." Bucky pleaded, voice wavering in fear of the way she was so limp against the wall, a hand held out pointing towards her. "I need to check she's okay. If she's not— I don't— She has to be okay, just let me ch—"

The captain cut him off, a hand held up to cease his speech. "She's okay, trust me. You can go see her in a second, we just have a couple questions, first."

Bucky swallowed, nearly glaring up at Steve. He shrugged. "Go crazy."

"What's your name?"

He scoffed, shoulders shaking, eyes never leaving yourself. "Bucky Barnes."

"When were you born?" He was being very very quick with these questions. Bucky found it almost demeaning, but under the circumstances and taking into consideration the entire situation, he became a bit more empathetic.

"March 10th, 1917."

Steve swallowed, allowing two quick glances, one toward Sam stood next to him, and then behind him to where you were still unconscious. "Tell me something only Bucky would know."

Bucky sighed, shoulders deflating and finally being able to draw his gaze away from you, meeting Steve's. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes—"

At Sam's small chuckle, Steve held a hand out, pausing him. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry for the paranoia, but with the fight that just broke out, I hope you can understand why. I swear, we've done our checks and she's really alright but you go ahead."

"Thanks." He nodded curtly, rushing towards you and falling to his knees. He pushed your hair back from your face, hands pressed against your cheeks, examining your face.

Steve, arms crossed again, looked to face him. "Who even is she?"

Bucky grinned, forehead pressed to yours, letting out a deep sigh as his conclusions came back that nothing was inherently wrong, you simply needed to wake up. "She's my saviour. She is the reason I'm still alive, that I'm not a slave for Hydra anymore." Pulling back, he sought Steve for a reason. In the small moment he was looking away, you twitched, gasping for air and eyes flicking open, regaining consciousness.

"James—"

At the breathe of your name, he spun, eyes widening at the sight of you awake. Immediately, he pulled you into him, arms around your torso, chest flush against his. You sighed, realising he was here, and safe, and not the Winter Solider. His face pressed against your neck, warm breath jarring against the cold of wherever the safe house was.

He sighed contently into your neck. "You're okay, doll, you're okay. Are you okay? How—"

Pulling back, you laughed, palms moving to press against his cheeks. "Am I okay? Oh, James, I swear. Are you okay? You're the one that was triggered, how do you feel?"

"A bit shaken." He spoke, breathing calming down. "But alive, and happy you are too."

"Good."

Sam cleared his throat, and the two of you were brought back to reality. Steve hid a chuckle behind a cough and in order to force the awkwardness to dissipate, he took over the room, setting about recap of the circumstance and what the next plan of action was. It would be a lot of work, but anything to make sure Bucky was free.

a/n: hope you enjoyed!! lemme know if yous want a part 2 or want me to create a tag list or anything any support is appreciated 👏

[blackwoolncrown]

Hey allies - I could use support <3 (Black, autistic, NB femme, orphan of estrangement)

So long story short I've been through the ringer lately- The great part is things that I've been working towards for the past 2 years are finally coming to fruition!

The hard part is that I've been dealing with frequent fees and expenses in the process and Oct-Nov promise even more.

If you don't know, I was displaced from FL during the housing crisis and just couldn't keep up with what the US was demanding of me for survival, so I moved to another country at the suggestion and helping hand of a friend.

Recently, I've managed to get part of my residency process under way, but the trip to do so cost me ~$2k for travel, food and lodgings, I'd JUST had my car fixed.

When I got back to the country I was told that completing the process would be another $100 fee; my lease is up next month and in order to move I'll need to pay 2x rent wherever I go.

It's just a lot building up and I make a modest income right now; my savings is drained from taking care of things with my business and having to travel back and forth to a town 1.5 hours away bc my place got robbed and I've been having to handle things w the police & my landlord while I stay at a friends (still, unfortunately, paying rent at the place I can't stay at rn). I'd love to focus on my work to help w this but I only do payroll once a month, and I'll need to pay fees & rent sooner than that because next month I have to move AND drive 3 days to pay a bunch of money to import my car.

There's more and I'd be happy to give more detail/proof if anyone wants it (DM me) but overall I have just been really financially drained, burned out, and I need funding to assist w covering groceries, deposit and legal fees for this month into Oct & Nov.

**I am not at risk of being houseless or unfed atm so this is really for anyone with privilege who can comfortably help out***

C***app: $moonseye

!!!PLEASE DO NOT TAG!!!!

[nanafan707]

Apple Cider (2)

part 2!! (here’s part 1)

pairings: loser!mizu x reader

warnings: very minor themes of anxiety, sfw

summary: After getting Mizu’s number your ecstatic you and her practically call everyday growing closer and closer each day. As the song progresses, the more your feelings grow the more you both realise there’s no going back now.

word count: 1,264

It’s been about 2 weeks since you and Mizu have been texting.

TWO weeks.

Saying that "things were going well" would sure be an understatement you two were practically texting every second; Mizu was the kind of person that would accidentally leave someone on read for a whole month so this, for her, was something completely different.

Although she wasn't used to texting people, it didn't feel like a chore to her though, whenever your notification popped up she'd practically dive to her phone replying in seconds not caring if it seemed extremely desperate.You'd always send her memes of shows and games that you both had in common and she'd always laugh at them out loud even in public..which was quite embarrassing but she was too content to care.

Mizu would always send you pictures of her dog, which always made you smile in fact any message from Mizu always had you beaming from ear to ear even before you've opened the message to see what she said.

Alas, it was the evening you were finishing up some coursework that was due and your phone buzzed.

It was mizu.

You gleefully picked up your phone and opened the message that read; "hey uhh do you wanna call? just for aa friendly chat? only if your free though haha uni work has everyone on a chokehold atm lol 😓"

You giggled aloud hearing her rambling rusty voice coming through the text message and you instantly replied, "sure!!! I can call now? ^^"

Mizu's phone begins buzzing and she immediately picks up and she sees you on face time.

"hey! sorry for calling so late oh uh its midnight i just realised haha wow um what are you up to?" She managed to sputter out in a incoherent state of mind to which you found amusing.

Laughing you responded "Call me at midnight everyday for all I care I love talking to you!!" easing Mizu's nervous outlook.

You both begin talking to each other for the next 4 hours neither one of you wanting to leave the call just wishing that you two could just stay in this oddly comforting moment forever making you both having the thought of "Lets give this thing a try".

After the call ended Mizu just ended up laying on her bed staring at her ceiling reviewing every single detail of the call from every pore on your face to your sultry voice that had Mizu in a chokehold.Even though Mizu looked like a mess, to herself not you, you had still complemented her a bunch which got her kicking her feet saying stuff like "you said you liked my hair" aloud knowing that she'll defintely style her hair like that whenever she goes out of her dorm incase she bumps into you.

You both made plans to sit together at lunch and in the next period as you both had a free which made you both extremely giddy.

You were getting ready and saw the sweater you wore at akemi’s sleepover remembering how mizu complemented it even asking where you got it from so you threw that on yourself today.

There by the tree in the middle of the uni stood Mizu, with the wind blowing through the cuticles of her hair exposing her sharp yet elegant facial features causing a slight redness to dust on your cheek.Your heart sped up..you've never felt this way before about anyone let alone someone you just met 2 weeks ago? you must be going crazy.

Frozen in time Mizu turned her head and her gaze landed on you.

It felt like you both were staring at each other for eternity until someone bumped into you spilling coffee on you before walking away unapologetically.This causes Mizu to quickly speed walk towards you immediately asking if you were okay.

"You said you liked my jumper so I always wore it aw man I can’t no more" you sighed out without thinking which earned a hearty laugh from mizu that caused you to laugh with her.

Mizu and you walked around campus together both joyfully chatting away at numerous different topics that you both had in common as well as learning more about each other. Every time you both bumped into one another you'd both say sorry at the same time causing you both to giggle in unison as if you were already a couple best friends of many years.

Lunch soon came to and end and so did that free period, much sooner than you both anticipated.As you were walking around campus, you had gone in a full circle ending up by the same tree that you agreed to meet up near causing Mizu to overthink every action that happened today.

"oh its almost second period..I need to get to my lecture.. sorry about your jumper it probably wouldn’t have gotten ruined if we didn’t meet up here" mizu hushly uttered out.

You immediately cupped both of her hands together interrupting her, "No, I had a wonderful time I don’t care about some stupid sweater, It's really nice to talk to you"

Mizu tensed up when you held her hand not used to physical contact causing you to let go in embarrassment adding "haha sorry".

"No its okay" Mizu answered with an unreadable facial expression, "its really nice to hold your hand" she softly muttered out unaware that you could hear her.

Your breath hitched, and adrenaline rushed to your cheeks as you froze, unsure whether to respond. The warmth of her hand in yours felt almost too real, too perfect. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with you. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

Finally, you looked up, meeting her gaze, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "I... I feel the same way," you whispered, hoping your voice wasn’t too shaky and that she could maybe read between the lines.

Her eyes became shakey, and you both stood there, the unspoken connection between you louder than anything either of you had said.

part 3

sorry for it being unreasonably late i couldn’t think of anything to write & i was busy with exams 💔

but i know that there will be 4 parts so 2 more parts!!

part 3 is out <3

@violettomanocu @lavenderlili

(banner from tgswiiwagaa)

[stylesclarified]

Hi! http://youtube.com/post/Ugkx3ofi1sUAUbsISr7TwTu5Tp7JN853X8D6?si=hkiK_ll2BTkcT0O6

Are you able to debunk this?

I'm actually working on another post atm (in between a million work meetings that are driving me up the wall), but I think this should be tackled relatively fast, it's so nonsensical.

For years, we've been fed a narrative that positioned Harry Styles as the creative centerpiece of One Direction.

No, we haven’t. Louis and Liam have discussed songwriting in countless interviews. Just straight up false from the start.

But what if I told you the documented evidence tells a completely different story?

"The" documented evidence shows none of them had significant creative input. I discussed this in detail here.

Let's start with the facts. According to official BMI and ASCAP databases

First of all, BMI and ASCAP share a database called Songview. If you don’t even know what you’re talking about, maybe sit this one out.

– the registries that track songwriting credits –

They’re not “registries”; they’re Performance Rights Organizations. It’s obvious from the start that this person has no real understanding of these topics.

Louis Tomlinson contributed to a staggering 38 songs across One Direction's five albums. Liam Payne was right behind him with 37 credits.

It’s actually 37 for Louis and 34 for Liam, but that’s largely irrelevant since their contributions are usually estimated at only 5-10% of the full songwriting credit. I broke it down in detail in the post I linked above.

Meanwhile, Harry Styles accumulated just 20 credits – the fewest of any member.

Well, actually, Harry wrote 21 tracks—fewer than Liam and Louis but more than Niall (17) and Zayn (11)—so this claim is just plain wrong.

You can quite literally count the writing credits from this article. Each of them is mentioned once in the main text and once at the bottom (except Zayn, who also appears in the notes), so just subtract 2 from the total count (or 3 in Zayn’s case).

These aren't opinions, folks – these are verified industry records.

This is just a goofy thing to say after providing verifiably false information.

Julian Bunetta, one of One Direction's main producers, confirmed this in a 2018 Billboard interview, noting that "Louis and Liam were always the most active in writing sessions. They had natural instincts for pop structure that were remarkable." Yet somehow, this reality never made it into the mainstream narrative.

So, that's a fucking lie:

I have a feeling we'll see a bunch of these made-up quotes.

The disparity extends far beyond songwriting. Multiple sound engineers and producers have gone on record describing how...

Source? Who were these engineers and producers? Does this person know what "going on record" means?

If they'd "gone on record"... there... had... to be a record. Where is it? We need names and dates...

Louis would "stay until 3 a.m. tweaking backing vocals that weren't even his,"

There's so much wrong in such a tiny sentence.

1- Louis himself can't sing. His own vocal takes, the final ones in 1D albums, are often flat. And I'm not even talking about backing vocals. I'm talking about the main vocals.

2- What does "tweaking" even mean in this context? It can't be singing over them, because he barely sings any backing vocals as it is. Does this person mean go over them on autotune? Stack them? That would land him a producer role and he has never produced a single 1D track.

Producers for Midnight Memories:

Julian Bunetta, Carl Falk, Tom Fletcher, Teddy Geiger, Danny Jones, Jacknife Lee, Dougie Poynter, Robert John "Mutt" Lange, Matt Rad, John Ryan, Jamie Scott, Toby Smith, Ryan Tedder

Producers for Four:

Julian Bunetta, Pär Westerlund, John Ryan, Teddy Geiger, Steve Robson, Matt Rad, Jamie Scott, Ian Franzino, Afterhrs

Producers for Made in the AM:

Julian Bunetta, Jesse Shatkin, John Ryan, Afterhrs, Johan Carlsson, Jamie Scott

3- Where, physically, did he stay until 3 AM? Because they had zero input in albums 1 and 2, and most parts of albums 3 to 5 was recorded in hotel rooms while they were touring.

Like this:

They recorded in their hotel rooms putting mattresses up to help with soundproofing. Most of the last several albums were recorded this way.

There wasn't really a lot of studio time. And if there had been studio time, it'd have to be booked. You can only use it for the amount of time you've hired it. You can't just stay until 3 AM.

Louis wouldn't be able to go over vocal tracks on his own either. He'd need the vocal stems and the programs to edit them, which he absolutely wouldn't have. I mean, the fact that he was never credited as a producer says enough.

while Liam was "meticulous about vocal takes, often doing many more than required."

I’m sure Liam would’ve loved to be meticulous. Honestly, I think they all would’ve preferred that, but that’s not how it actually worked in reality. It’s one of the reasons their albums sound so poorly produced. They didn’t have time for multiple vocal takes—they were recording in their free time between shows while touring. Their voices were already exhausted from performing, and they just didn’t have the physical time to do things properly.

Just listen to the vocals on any random 1D song. They sound robotic and underdeveloped, and the way they sit in the mix feels awkward. At times, they even sound like chipmunks. The one I'm linking below, Fireproof, is one of the better-produced tracks they have and it still sounds like shit.

Compare to any random song of Harry's. Listen to the way the backing vocals sound and how the entire sound is mixed...

Or Niall's... and this song was produced by the same team as 1D!

Liam did not do "many more vocal takes than required" because none of them did.

According to these sources, Harry was more of a "get in, do your part, get out type" in the studio.

Once again, who are these sources? Names? Where did they say this? The fact that 1D barely went into the studio already makes this whole "statement" sus.

Even more revealing are the accounts of how band members supported each other. When Niall Horan struggled with confidence in his vocals, it was Louis and Liam who consistently advocated for him.

What’s the connection between a lack of confidence in one’s vocals and someone advocating for you? Does this person even know what "advocating" means? If Niall was struggling with his confidence, what he needed was support and a hug, not advocacy.

Former tour personnel have described how Louis would declare "If Niall's not singing, I'm not singing" when management tried to minimize Horan's contributions.

Source? Why would "tour personnel" know about this? This is the kind of conversation 1D would have with their producers, and tour personnel wouldn’t have been present in their hotel rooms or in the studio (the few times they recorded there).

Niall always had more solos than Louis, so why would Louis even say that in the first place? And why would management have any control over anyone’s contributions? An artist’s management doesn’t get to dictate what happens in the studio—that’s 100% up to the producers. Sure, the producers might be following orders, but those orders would come from the record label, not from the management.

Meanwhile, Liam provided technical coaching and emotional support to both Niall and Zayn when they faced challenges.

Liam provided emotional support to Zayn? The same Liam who had an actual fistfight with Zayn backstage? If you say so lmao

What's fascinating is that we simply don't see similar accounts of Harry taking on these supportive roles.

Harry at his guitarist Mitch's concert in New York (left) and at his keyboardist Madi Diaz's concert in London (right)

Harry signed Mitch to his record label...

When one of his live band members left to pursue her solo career, Harry gave her an opening act slot in her home country—for his sold stadium show there, btw. This is them right after:

This is Harry cheering on Pauli Lovejoy, his musical director, when Pauli opened for him in Wembley:

All of Harry's live band members got an opening act slot at Wembley. I think the man is as supportive as a person can be.

We didn't get to see this side of any of them in 1D because 1D's team had other priorities.

Sandy Beales, their touring bassist, revealed that "when Niall was going through that rough patch with his confidence, it was Louis and Liam who were constantly building him up. Harry was more... separate. Not in a bad way, just focused on different things."

So, Sandy Beales never said this. I know, shocking this person would just... make it up. I searched up and down for this quote and it straight up doesn't exist. I don't think Sandy would be too pleased to see his name being used in this way.

There's no indication Niall ever suffered with his confidence, for the record. That's literally old Larry fan fiction that Niall himself has denied.

This isn't about tearing down Harry Styles. He brought undeniable charisma and a distinctive voice to One Direction.

This is absolutely about tearing down Harry Styles, and the ending of this text will show it.

But the evidence suggests that the foundation of One Direction's musical output – the songwriting, the production involvement, the vocal arrangements – was built more substantially by his bandmates, particularly Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne.

Once again with "the" evidence while not providing any, let alone all of it.

Louis and Liam had ZERO involvement in 1D's production and vocal arrangements. Z E R O. And their involvement in songwriting was minimal. They have a lot of credits, sure, but the involvement in each of those songs was minimal. I literally broke it down in a post not too long ago, which I have already linked.

So why the disconnect? Media studies professor Dr. Emma Collins may have the answer. Her 2022 research documented how management deliberately positioned Styles as the band's centerpiece regardless of his actual contributions. She found that Styles received 64% more media coverage than Tomlinson despite the latter's substantially larger creative input. "What we observed was a textbook case of media narrative construction," Collins wrote.

Hey, so, quick question... is this fanfiction? Am I reading fanfiction?

Like...?

Once again, "management" would have no hand in this. That would be their publicists. The insistence of this obscure, almighty figure of "management" denotes that this person is a straight up conspiracy theorist. Probably a former Larrie disillusioned with Harry's choices and how much more successful he is than the rest of his former bandmates, particularly Louis.

This manufactured narrative continued into their solo careers. Industry reports show that Columbia Records allocated approximately three times the marketing budget to Styles' debut compared to his former bandmates.

Why would Columbia, which only signed Harry as a solo artist, allocate any marketing budget to the other four? This person isn't just making shit up—they actually don't understand a single part of what they're talking about with such confidence. This is fanfiction.

Louis is signed to BMG, Liam was signed to Republic, Niall is signed to Capitol Records, and Zayn was first signed to RCA, and is currently signed to Mercury Records.

If this person is trying to say that Columbia allocated three more times the marketing budget to Harry than his bandmate's record companies did them, she should've... said that. And how would that be Columbia's or Harry's responsibility?

Industry reports show no numbers for any marketing budget, btw. That's not information you can actually get as a layman. We know Harry's three record deal was for aproximately $80 million, but that folds together production, distribution, and promotion, so it tells us factually nothing about his marketing budget. We have no numbers for any of the others.

His connection to Jeffrey Azoff, son of industry powerhouse Irving Azoff, provided extraordinary industry access that the others simply didn't have.

Okay... and??? How is that Harry's moral failure? The others should make connections then. They had the exact same tools and access Harry did.

By 2015, during the "On The Road Again" tour, crew members noted Styles' increasing isolation from group dynamics. Tour photographer Cal Aurand revealed that "Harry had essentially created his own operation within the operation. Different transportation schedules, different security, different accommodations." This separation foreshadowed his clean break from the band once the hiatus began.

In a shocking turn of events, Cal Aurand didn't say this. In fact, Cal is a very close friend of Harry's and would probably chop his tongue off before divulging anything about band dynamics to the media or "insiders", positive or negative.

This is Jackson, Cal Aurand's son...

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Cal Aurand (@calaurand)

You know, this Jackson

Harry's godson, Jackson. Who was born after the band broke up...

The pattern has continued throughout Styles' solo career. While Tomlinson, Horan, and Payne have repeatedly supported each other's projects, attended each other's performances, and spoken warmly about their shared experience, Styles has maintained a deliberate distance from his One Direction past.

Harry Styles maintained a deliberate instant from his 1D past by.... performing a 1D song every single time he did a live show? Including singing it with his guest when he headlined Coachella?

Or what about the several minutes he dedicated to the band in his documentary, which you can watch here at about 14 minutes:

Also... Harry very much has seen Niall in concert...

And vice-versa...

As music journalist Alexa Richards observed: "Louis, Niall and Liam discuss One Direction as a formative, positive experience and maintain connections with each other. Harry speaks of it as something entirely in the past, a chapter closed rather than part of an ongoing story."

Is anyone else shocked to learn that "music journalist Alexa Richards" doesn't exist?

Her quote doesn't exist either:

What would be the problem with One Direction being "a chapter closed"? It's been TEN YEARS.

What emerges from all these accounts is not a simplistic villain-and-hero narrative, but rather a more nuanced understanding of how the music industry creates and maintains certain perceptions regardless of behind-the-scenes reality. It's about how media machinery can elevate one member while minimizing the critical contributions of others.

All these accounts are made up. This person didn't include a single real and verifiable quote and all the stats they did include are verifiably wrong.

In Louis Tomlinson's 2022 documentary "All of Those Voices," he reflected: "I realized I'd spent so much time trying to make sure the band succeeded that I hadn't always fought for my own place in it." It's a poignant statement that speaks volumes about the unbalanced dynamics at play.

I haven't finished watching Louis' documentary (I've been putting myself through it to write another post), so he very well could've said this. That sounds like his repeated underdog narrative. I also wouldn't be surprised if this person made it up either.

It's not "a poignant statement that speaks volumes about the unbalanced dynamics at play," because if Louis did say this, he still didn't mention anyone else or any dynamics.

Also, the documentary came out in 2023.

I encourage you to look beyond the carefully crafted narratives we're often presented with. The true story of One Direction's success is far more complex – and in many ways, far more interesting – than what made it into the headlines.

You should take your own advice because this was a mess.

A#HarryStyles is a selfish bitch no doesn’t deserve someone as amazing as #LouisTomlinson.

Ah, the truth comes out. That's what's behind this drivel. This is what The Hags do every single time, btw. They're all former Larries who hate that Harry has become so much more successful and killed all their Larry (and One Direction returning) fantasies. They behave like bitter exes themselves. Not only as if "Larry" was a real thing, but also, as if they knew for a fact they had broken up, and they were personally involved in said breakup.

#OneDirection will never reunite because Harry sold his soul for fame and the others want nothing to do with him.

This is plucked straight up out from the blog by The Mayor Of The Hags. YAWN.

He lost the brightness in his eyes because he sold his soul.

Yeah, look at this soulless man

He lost the brightness in his eyes, you hear me!

Do these people think we don't have an internet connection? What's going onnnnn?

Harry is one big humiliation ritual in front of us.

The whole "humiliation ritual" talking point is nothing more than a far right conspiracy theory. Just FYI.

If #LarryStylinson is true … Louis is the prize.

It's not true. And Harry has better taste than that.

Harry is just a miserable mess enslaved by the industry.

If he's so enslaved, how come he's been able to not release music for nearly three years? How does "the industry" allow that and why?

I'm trying to reason with a cuckoo, of course.

Louis is the one who is free.

Both are free. They're rich white men who don't have to work another day in their lives to live comfortably forever.

GET. A. JOB.

Speaking of, I have to get back to mine. Bye!

[austinslounge]

I didn't want to bring it up, but now that another anon mentioned it, I'll admit that I too am worried about Austin's disappearance. I don't expect him to be seen out on dates like a wild man, but he hasn't even been spotted out with friends in LA or elsewhere. One red flag was just 2 nights ago, when Dune 2 cinematographer & Josh Brolin had a Dune book release party at a gallery. Denis & Timmy showed up, but not Austin. Can't he do at least the minimum promo, as a courtesy to his friends?

I'm glad he's been spending valuable time reconnecting with family, but eventually he'll want to go back to the life and career that he's worked so hard for. Yes, there are certain successful actors that can live a life completely outside of Hollywood (Ryan Gosling comes to mind), but Austin is just not there yet. He's still building his career, and any talent manager or pr professional will tell him to get out there & network.

I know you are of the opinion that Austin was so happy to dump K's ass & they were a meaningless pr relationship, but what if that's not the case? What if he had a change of heart or was hoping to patch things up, but K moved on like Austin never existed? What if the breakup has taken its toll & he is struggling? None of us are in his head, by your own admission, so we don't know what negative thoughts he might have while alone & no longer with a romantic companion. That can be the case for any person, but compounded by the pressures of Hollywood stardom makes things even more challenging.

Okay, you all are going to need a seat for this one, because I have a lot to say.

Anon, I understand your concern, but keep in mind that even early last year, Austin wasn't spotted in LA for months unless it was during a red carpet event (and he had several last year).

His pap visibility, even from last year in LA, subsided drastically. The only time he was usually papped was when he was spotted with [Redacted] or in NYC filming. I think it's pretty clear now who was calling the paps.

I think fans just got used to him promoting a bunch of stuff last year, being everywhere for "Elvis" promo and awards season, and being with a pap-calling gf, that fans didn't realize that he's actually pretty low-key when he's not working or dating someone who's calling the paps every 2 seconds. 😒

Keep in mind that Austin might not even be in LA atm. We really don't even know. He hasn't been spotted since Colorado. If he's spending time visiting his family, then good for him! That should be encouraged, not discouraged (imo).

Also, keep in mind that Austin and Callum hung out and weren't papped or even seen by locals while out together. They mentioned during their MOTA press tour that they hung out together with each other while Callum was in LA visiting from London. We didn't even know that they had hung out in LA together until they themselves mentioned it. Again, more signs that Austin isn't the one calling paps on himself.

It's also good to remember that Austin is usually a homebody. Even Florence said during their Dune Press Tour that she had to drag him out of his hotel room to get him go out while they were in Budapest filming lol. 😅 He's an introvert. Him being by himself or not "out and about" doesn't mean he's depressed. Just because you're alone, it doesn't necessarily mean you feel "lonely". You can be in a relationship and still feel very lonely and dejected. (Keep that in mind)

Wrt the Dune Book Release Party -- Ummm...Timmy is the lead in Dune Part 2. Austin is not. Timmy is also campaigning for an Oscar. Austin is not. Austin has already done the whole Oscar campaigning where he was seen everywhere. He's not going to do something that he doesn't have to do lol.

Austin's career and visibility is just fine imo. It's actually very smart if he wants to be an actor who people can realistically believe can disappear into various different roles. Maybe he himself doesn't want to become too overexposed since he already went through a huge Elvis press tour & awards season where he was everywhere, and he had 3 projects to promote last year.

Austin (so far) seems like he's honestly just enjoying his life and time off before he has to promote 2 films this year, and possibly film something else.

Look, I know some of you out there may have this whole fantasy in your heads about how Austin is missing [Redacted] and wants her back lol, but just look at the facts!

Austin dumped [Redacted]. It was his decision! It wasn't like she dumped him, and now he's feeling bad and wants to make things work. It didn't even seem like they had a huge blown up fight and broke up in haste! According to DM, he had even stopped making an effort 6 months prior to see her. That right there should tell you something. She was turning him off pretty badly if he didn't even want to see her, even just for.... 👀 Look -- He pretty much showed by his actions how he feels.

Austin and [Redacted] broke up months ago. In fact, I believe they broke up even as early as September. Don't you think that if he wanted her back, he would have done something by now?? She's been single for months before getting with Lewis lol.

If Austin were "sad" about her being with another guy and wanted her back, don't you think he would have done something to get her back while she was getting close with Marcello?? Toe Thumbs Dude? Santa's Lap Dude? Think about it. 🤔

Look at the way Austin looked while in a relationship with [Redacted]. Can you honestly (with a straight face) say that Austin looked happy...especially all of 2024 with her? Why would you think that he would want to go back to a relationship w/a woman who he looked miserable and depressed with most of the time?? Someone who he was liking videos on IG tagged "toxic relationships"? Girl, get real! Idk any man who would be mourning a relationship like that. Especially one in which her family threw him under the bus, and one where the media was going back and forth on how "they have nothing in common" and there's "trouble in paradise". Why regress back into a relationship in which Austin didn't even look in love with her? (And we all know what Austin in love looks like -- We had 8 years of seeing him in love).

In conclusion, before I end this essay, I just wanted to say that we just need to be patient. We will see Austin again.😊 He will pop up (maybe even unexpectedly!?). Fans just have to be patient, that's all. 💜

[tourettesdog]

It's been entirely too long since I dropped some fic recommendations, so here are some DPxDC fics I love!!

(Part 2 here!)

Unearthed, Reborn by QueenOfTheQuill

Quill writes the best dialogue. The words just flow so organically, and they have such a nice balance of humor and sincerity. Cannot stress enough how funny their character interactions are. I'm also a sucker for Everlasting Trio, and they write it so well.

We're Longing for Daylight by AKelaNakamura

Akela has such a masterful grasp on writing emotion and tone. I love how she describes emotion so much, and weaves it into lore with ectoplasm and ghosts. She has several other DPxDC and DP fics to enjoy, all of it slaps.

Shovel Talk by SummersSixEcho

This is a dead tired (Danny/Tim) fic and I love how Summers crafted their relationship for it. The fic is so funny, with lots of fun puns. It's just two boyfriends being goofy and going through awkward situations and I love it dearly. I love all of Summers' DPxDC works, and she has great DP only ones too!

Recognized by AgentIanLegend

This is one of the first completed fics I read for the crossover, and it still lives in my head rent free. It's complete, very well written, and the story is interesting throughout with a bunch of twists and turns.

Premeditation by Chromatographic

Super interesting fic with neat lore throughout. I love the dynamic between Danny and his friends and Jazz in it, with the roles they've carved out. The general plotting nature of the story is very neat.

Noise and Light by TheWritingOwl

I'm so soft for this fic, it's SO sweet. Deaged fics have a special place in my heart, and I love the emotions throughout this fic. It's ripe with family feels and Owl describes it all beautifully.

Family Friction by Halfagone

Halfa has SUCH a prolific library of DPxDC fics and all of it is quality. I need to read more of them. Tis oneshot in particular has a special place in my heart. The premise is just so fun and goofy and I love how it's executed.

Build-A-Boyfriend by NightShiftShenanigans

I spent my entire time reading this fic with a goofy smile because it is just insanely fun and cute, with great dialogue throughout. I love it.

A Halloween in Amity by spite_sapphic_starlight

I love this poly ship, I love the scenario, I love the dynamics and the dialogue and-- it's just a good time. Just the occult shop alone is enough reason to love this.

Knight of the Boyking by Milaley

I love the angst in this one and the general setup from the beginning. The start of it has such a hook and it's just great throughout from there.

The Curious Case of D. Grayson by brothebro

I LOVE the Everlasting Trio dynamic in this fic and the shenanigans throughout. God, there's so many shenanigans and they're all great. Just a thousand misunderstandings and the domino effect of each lol. I love it.

Afterimage by TorScrawls

The descriptions in this one are just plain wicked. It still really stands out to me, as just being such a neat way to describe how mortals perceive Danny and his powers.

Close Enough to be Whole Again by hailsatanacab

Literally the twin fic that inspired me to write my own. The fic has insanely good descriptions and carries emotion so well. I love Hail's writing style a lot.

Vacation Crashers by Imp_y

I love everything about this one from the premise to how the story unfolds to the conclusion. This was another one of the first finished long DPxDC fics I read and I still love it dearly.

Voices That They Left by catmiint

This one has such an intriguing build up, with a lot of concerning things boiling beneath the surface. I'm not caught up on it atm, but I need to fix that soon because the story is really neat.

Liminal Familiarity by isitcowboytimes

This fic goes heavy on the angst and is wonderful written. There's this like really melancholic, liminal feel throughout the fic and it really sticks out to me.

To Join the Whispers by ayamari_no_goshi

Another one of the first completed long fics I read for the crossover (I think the actual first, based on bookmark date). I feel like this fic was the first one for a lot of people, and I definitely think it set the bar for Jason and ectoplasm shenanigans.

Ghosts Don't Go to Highschool by Evandarya

This is the first DPxDC fic in my bookmark history and I love it. I love the premise, the underlying story, the building relationship between Danny and Tim. I've had the pleasure of betaing for the most recent chapters and it's been a blast also!

Have You Heard of Danny Wayne? by FortunateCookie

This one has fantastic dialogue and I love the building shenanigans in it. All around a fun read, especially the chatfic portion.

Memories Lost in Time by MidnightsFury

The building lore and story in this one is so neat, I can't wait to see where it goes. The fact that it's a twin fic too has me vibrating with excitement, just waiting for the shenanigans to really settle in. I don't care how long it takes these nerds to find each other, I'm here for the shenanigans.

I would add more, but I really need to get some sleep before I pass out at my desk lol. I also plan to make a separate list for DP and non-DC crossover fics I love too!

[nomsfaultau]

thank you so much for writing mandatory family reunion. i just reread it for the eighth time. i think im going to dedicate my life to life to reading your other sbi fics until you update again. also; do you have any tips for committing to fics and not leaving them half-finished?

ahhhh that’s so sweet glad you enjoyed! As for writing fics, having it be your special interest really helps. But for more general advice on finishing:

-Don’t stick to just one story. Which seems counter intuitive! But inevitably you’re going to hit a snag in one story. So instead of stopping writing at all, switch projects. Writing involves a whole bunch of thinking, and stuff needs time to percolate in the back of your head. But having a small project to work on in the mean time keeps you engaged in the writing process, gives you practice, makes you feel like you’re making progress, and allows time to work out the other story. I personally have 1-2 main projects, Fault and MFR, and then rotate a couple back burner stories that I work on whenever I get inspiration and fully expect to have very slow progress and possibly never finish. Short stories, one shots, hell even just writing little one off scenes that don’t go anywhere. It’s a way to keep writing fun and thus you’re more likely to continue working on the stuff you’re trying to complete. Don’t feel bad if there’s breaks between working on your main project. Writing involves a lot of thinking and it takes time to do that.

-Devoting time to do that thinking also significantly helps. When you’re falling asleep can be a good time to rotate stories in your head. Could also be if you’re walking from place to place, or brushing your teeth, or other little gaps in the day. Even if you’re not physically writing, it’s still part of the process and can make it easier when you actually sit down to write because you know what scene you’re most excited to work on. Also, talking over your story idea with a friend is a great way to stay motivated if you can get over the mortifying ordeal of being known. You can bounce ideas off them, and other people’s investment in a project can be a great motivator to finish. Like legit a single ao3 comment once stopped me from my plan to abandon a fic. Reminding yourself why you (and other people) like the story makes it easier to want to continue.

-Keeping a rough outline of what you envision for the story can give you a road map to how close to done you are and where to go next. Just like you can hop between projects, I find jumping around the plot time line to write what scene I’m most interested in atm keeps me going instead of writing everything in order. Though, all writers have different degrees of plot planning, so that depends on your style.

-Art! I’m an artist, and while writing definitely fuels what I draw, I find doodling cool scenes I want to write really inspires me to keep going. This sorta falls under the same category of continuing to think about the story and motivating you to finish. -I found keeping a writing journal has improved how I view my writing. Basically, I’ll jot down a bullet point list of scenes worked on that week/month. Writing is a very slow process, so seeing a timeline of actual progression on a story makes it feel like I’m actually getting more out of my head and onto paper. I also jot down what ideas for scenes I came up with since that’s also part of writing, and might include a chill no stakes writing goal for that period, like work on X or Y project, or a particular scene. Sometimes my goal is just ‘write at least one sentence’. I give it lots of leeway, and accept that the muse may just be somewhere else that week. And if the goal isn’t met, no sweat! Life can get busy at times and it’s more important that you aren’t beating yourself up if it’s been awhile since you last touched a project. Forcing yourself to write a scene that isn’t ready won’t result in a good scene or an happy writer. Switch projects, give yourself time to think about it, take care of yourself, etc.

And, legitimately, don’t be afraid to abandon a piece. Maybe you’ll come back to it, maybe you won’t. It can feel disheartening to feel like you can’t seem to finish a project, but unfinished pieces also do a lot for you: they hone your craft, allow you a creative outlet, give you scenes that could potentially be reworked for later pieces, and most importantly were hopefully fun to write! Story crafting is a hobby that should bring you joy, not frustration and shame.

Like, I have stories that will never see the light of day and are just so I can have fun and poke it with a stick occasionally. I’m 100% confident in saying that every author will have tenfold the number of unfinished wips compared to complete works. That’s just part of the creative process: exploring different worlds to find the one you want to write.

Perhaps a fic might never get finished, but in the wise words of Technoblade: “if you enjoy it, it’s not time wasted, no?”

(Now, I think he was talking about murdering people, but the point still stands.)

[fandomsandassortedgoods]

i need your thoughts on ts5 STAT, i like your account and posts on prideyear so id love to here your opinions on the current info we have atm.

Oh well I’m flattered asghgdhj I had some thoughts saved I was gonna post sometime, so I’ll finish it off and put it here.

Guess I'm one of the few people that don't find toys vs electronics an inherently cringe premise, I trust Pixar enough not to have the message just be IPAD BAD (though given Wall-E maybe I shouldn’t lmao), there are legitimate issues concerning children and screen use that can be explored, and how that affects how kids play with actual toys is interesting to me.

My issue is more with the time period. Were "tablet kids” even a big thing by like 2007-2009 (giving a range here on the years TS3-4 seem to take place in)? Bonnie could be older (though she doesn't look it), but even then that seems early for kids with tablets to be a major thing yet. It just feels like too modern an issue for what should be just before the 2010s. But maybe that's just drawing from my experience and tablet kids were a problem by then?

Also a bunch of defective Buzzes is... potentially interesting in concept, but by now I feel the "delusional Buzz" schtick has gotten very, very tired. It's fine to repurpose ideas that got left on the cutting room floor, but again? Really? You can't even use the excuse of "well every movie has a delusional Buzz moment so this one must have too" because there was no delusional Buzz in 4. The concept worked in 1 because well that was the plot of the movie and wasn’t done before. In 2 it worked because it a) was a funny callback to the first movie that played on the humour of how Buzz used to be compared to how he was now and b) didn't interfere with the main story so much, as in, didn't bloat up the story with unnecessary detail or ruin the more emotional scenes. In 3, it worked because it was once again a subversion on the concept: while delusional Buzz was played for laughs before, here we are shown a darker side to it, with someone being able to turn your friend against you just like that and losing yourself with the flip of a switch (ofc it still had some laughs because it's Pixar, but ykwim).

In 5, what will the fresh twist be? I really can't tell. It feels like they've done what they can with the concept and they should just let it go now like they did in 4. How many times can the characters say “not again” before the audience is thinking the same thing?

As for showing Woody back with the gang and the lack of a Bo Peep mention of all, that’s probably the most interesting part for me personally. Bonnie doesn’t seem much older, if that’s who’s under the sheet in that picture—how much time has passed since the ending of 4? How long are Bonnie’s remaining toys separated from Woody before he returns? How do they meet up again? That was a travelling fair, it’s unlikely they would be seeing each other again any time soon. Did Woody/the toys deliberately seek each other out, or is this a happy coincidence? Are they working together towards a common goal and that’s it, or will Woody be returning to Bonnie’s room for good? I’ve got a lot of questions here.

If it isn’t Bonnie under the blanket, that drastically changes things. Is this set decades ahead with a grown-up Bonnie’s kid? Or perhaps in this future, Bonnie returned her toys to Andy, and this is Andy’s child instead? (Though the presence of Forky calls that into question, unless she just threw him in as a gift because she doesn’t gaf about this spork anymore lmao). If it’s Bonnie’s kid and we know for a fact that Andy will be in the movie again, what if Bonnie’s kid befriends Andy’s kid, and that’s how his old toys eventually find their way back to him (I feel Bonnie would at least offer Andy the toys back first, but who knows)? At any rate, I’m putting heavy money on the ending being the toys returning to Andy and being passed down to his children, maybe with this new kid imitating the opening of 1 as he plays with Woody just like Andy did.

I’ve joked before about 5 opening with 4 just being a dream and they retcon the whole movie away, but these new details make that reality seem a little less insane lmao

and okay but the REAL question is: what does the 6+ hour ts4 reviewer think about all this?

[lemedstudent2021]

KINDREEED I'M SCAAARED

I WANT TO DO THIS ART THING WHERE MERCH DESIGN FOR JANANI K. JHA (APHRODITEEEEE) BUUUUT I ALSO HAVE A BIG BIG EXTRACURRICULAR FINAL EXAM IN 9 DAYS

9 DAYS

MY PARENTS WON'T LET ME DO IT IF I FAIL

I'VE FORGOTTEN EVERYTHING I'M GOING TO CRYYYYYY

DO YOU HAVE ANY GOOD STUDYING TECHNIQUES???

I FORGOT EVERYTHING-THE TEACHER DIDN'T EXPLAIN IT ALL VERY WELL-AND MY NOTES HAVE VANISHED

-NYX T-T

WOAH OMG OKAY! IM HOLDING UR HAND LETS DO THIS:

i have no idea what it is ur studying (like if its memorisation heavy or practice heavy, history vs maths for example) but i can advise u as follows:

start with bismillah!! u got this inshallah >:D

aight first were going to get ur calendar and study material out and plan: if i understood right ur test is on day 9 so u have 8 to study? (ill go with that just in case u plan according to what u have):-

in those 8 days how much stuff (topics/ chapters) do u need to cover? some parts may be longer/ harder than others and might need extra time, dont forget to take that into account! take bio example; id study a topic a day (one for mitosis, the next for cellular respiration, etc. but if ur tight on time group similar stuff together) and solve questions to help the ideas stick *and* make sure ive gotten everything down; if i forgor something or found a question particularly hard its an indication to go reread and study further that area specifically.

plan realistically and play to your strengths; start with what will be the easiest for you. for example i loved molecular bio (cell stuff) and left ecology till last, but that might be just me lol. anyway you know best what works for u so go for it!!

if u have school atm take a break after getting home to switch between school and studies, keep taking breaks to stay sane (preferrably after milestones), drink plenty of water and dont lose sleep!! very rich coming from me i know lol but u must sleep. or else ill haunt u :3

breaks btw can be getting up to pray, doing a random chore, eating a snack or having a meal with family, regardless i advise getting up and moving to really freshen ur mind! daydreaming also works lol

assuming u have a book/ reference material; id say look at the objectives before every lesson, usually thats what teachers focus on because thems the objectives lol. its a place to start

next, again this depends on what ur studying, but i cant sing enough praises for mind maps & mnemonics. life savers fr:

the idea is to start with the bigger picture; what is this lesson about? what are we learning here? (more bio: if im studying the humble cell i first need to know the kinds of cells, whats in them, how they do what they do. this is ur first mind map thingy: to arrange ur thoughts) and then continue to work your way with the details, seeing if you can come up with words phrases imagery etc to help remember stuff. (so for example making a lil mind map of each organelle and its functions) plenty of stuff exists online too btw!! look for resources and maybe ask classmates if yall have a group or sum. khan academy has saved me many a time back in the day, so did crash course lol. the internet can be a godsend sometimes

now me, kindred, personally, i memorise via writing. if i want anything to stick i keep writing till it does (even quran!), so as i make notes and summarise the way my brain works is that ill start making connections to help me remember stuff bc my memory isnt the best and brute memorisation is a crime. anywya.

literally from todays test: to help me remember the type of mutation (deletion of 1p & 19q) associated with a type of tumor (oligodendroglioma) i make the connection delete and go from oligo. its simple but thats what sticks when im in the exam lol another one i remember form 2 years ago almost is MACE (yk the medieval weapon) is short for a bunch of antibiotics: macrolides = azithro- clarithro- and erythomycin. i forgor everything else about them lmao but the point is this is how i remember stuff. silly little acronyms and mnemonics go a long long way for me

cant stress this enough; make studying enjoyable for urself (yes im serious) try to have a lil milestone sheet or something in mind for finishing topics or days at a time to keep u going and motivated

my gremlin brain needs this or else nothing will get done lol. i doodle on my lecture notes (as yall are all too familiar with lmao) to help get the wiggles out and stay focused, but when im actually done for the day i allow myself a lil research break, teleport to tumblr, microwave the blorbos for a bit etc.

in this case maybe u can plan out the art u want to make; first break plan the art, next one find references, third break make a first draft etc. u know urself and ur habits better than anyone so work with and not against them!!

tl;dr: make a plan -> stick to the plan -> always deliver.

this was significantly funnier in my head aha.

[azelfandquilava]

Unhinged Azure Gleam RW ideas

Alright, FE3H musing time again.

I've been floating a bunch of ideas for a hypothetical rewrite of Azure Gleam. Trying to summarise it in neat paragraph is proving harder for me than I thought it would so I'll just bullet-point drop all the ideas I had in rough chronological order:

Keeping a big focus on Dimitri's viewpoint of "Reform Over Revolution". In the official game, this is brought up a few times early on but basically dropped just as soon as the Western Lords arc wraps and the mindcontrol nonsense begins.

Cleobulus is the end villain, usurping Thales as leader of the Agarthans. Her tactics end up being much more chaotic and violent but with a greater cost to TWSITD's numbers. Odesse would act as her version of Myson, Kronya would also be given a bit more prominence (cuz who doesn't wanna see Agarthan Girlies having a bit of fun?)

In keeping with this, I really want to explore the idea of Dimitri and Edelgard forming a truce to take down TWSITD. It'll take some contriveances admittedly, but hear me out.

I'd keep Part 1's layout and premise roughly the same but with a lot of specifics changed. I’m juggling whether to keep Rufus alive for longer, or to just make Kleinman more prominent later on in his place.

The Western Lords are given more explanation of their motives for betraying Lambert, the specifics of his supposed reforms are explored more instead of just aluded to. Even if its a retread of the case with Ionius and the Insurrection of the Seven, that'd be better than the complete nothingness we get of it in the final game par Viscount Elidure's one line about the subject.

Rather than dying in Elidure’s territory like she does in the official route, Cleobulus retreats to Arianrhod where a three-way battle between in the invading Empire led by Edelgard, the remnants of the Western Lords (represented primarily by Count Rowe here, still being kept on a leash by Cleobulus) and Dimitri’s pursuing forces ensues.

The Western Coalition would be snuffed out here, with them no longer of use to her Cleobulus finally ditches her Cornelia skinsuit.

During the fighting Edelgard is badly wounded, prompting Thales to try his "mind-control" ploy from the official game (or maybe he's just going for the kill here, whatever works best). He is stopped by Hubert, who is mortally wounded in a vicious exchange covering Edelgard and the Empire's retreat. This would effectively be a mirror of Ingrid's death in Scarlet Blaze, but with a much bigger impact on the Empire's military capabilities.

Thales himself is badly injured and warps away, leaving him exhausted. Cleobulus uses this as an oppurtunity to finish the old man off and claim leadership of the Agarthans.

From here the Empire is left to lick its wounds, as a much more violent version of Ludwig's attempted coup from Scarlet Blaze occurs. Likewise the Kingdom is suddenly hit with more Slithery nonsense as Dimitri tries to recover following the Western Coalition's sabotage.

That's roughly where I got to, but I do have a few more ideas that I'm not sure where to fit/or if they'd work but here we go:

Rhea is pretty much a non-presence in Azure Gleam as is, apart from popping up for expo at a few points she doesn't really do much for the majority of it. I'm floating the idea of her being kidnapped by Cleobulus during Part 2 with the intent of bodysnatching her/using her blood for Slithery reasons. There's a risk with this tho in that I'd basically be changing the Route Damsel from Edelgard to Rhea. That said I do think Rhea needs to be moved out of the way for the potential truce to even remotely work.

Claude's the odd factor here as I'm not sure how exactly I wanna have him play out here. Both of Dimitri's routes handle the Alliance quite lazily imo as both times they end up siding with him, granted AG doesn't just have Claude give the entire faction to him but still.

Thats all I can muster typing up atm. I'll leave ya with a cool drawing of Cleobulus holding Thales' cut sword just to convey the idea of an Agarthan Girlboss end-villain (credit to @card-queen for the art). Please feel free to poke holes in my ideas or offer any suggestions of your own for this silliness.

[loriache]

Hello, I've read the first two chapters of your AU where Laios was eaten by the dragon instead of Falin and I'm in love :0 !!! Do you have any plans to write chapter 3?

you are so lovely! Thank you & I'm very pleased to hear you enjoyed part 1 & 2 of this au. I'm working on part 3, I can assure you. There are some things I have planned that I definitely want to get to so even though I have a bunch of other things I'm chipping away on atm (a little animation, and a huge post-canon fic collab, and I have some meta I want to write... and an essay on dunmeshi from years ago I want to get in shape to share...) it's at the top of the priority list.

I opened the doc after getting your ask and here's an excerpt of the draft just for you, anon <3

[localsharkcryptid]

I'd love to hear about it :D

Okay so! Admittedly this entire 'Good Ending' AU is a lot of concepts and ideas so imma just put down a bunch of the main and favorite notes I have so far with it!

If I ever do anything with this it'll probably be a fair amount of one-shots or short stories, and I do wanna hammer home that EVERYONE in this AU gets a good ending - no exclusions, full DSMP cast, if I don't write things on certain characters it's generally due to me just not knowing their lore well enough to give specifics on what they'd be doing or just not having set ideas atm.

Mostly for Context Notes:

- I won't say the canon ending is retconned but more so it doesn't happen the same way due to some changes! The Eggpire ending is important though and still plays out mostly the same. Which leads into The Egg becoming this bigger force that everyone has to work together against - thus leading to a final server wide 'truce' in a way that allows for things to finally settle. (Generally going with a concept that the Egg originally surfaced due to all the previous wars, the death drawing it out so it could be found, therefore people figure this out and it becomes a sort of for the greater good situation)

- Additionally the server doesn't reset again due to XD making a very specific deal with George, in an attempt to finally be free of the Admin's influence/all the dream coma bullshittery, George effectively tricks XD into becoming mortal and giving up his status as Admin - officially freeing the server from the loop.

- After the truce, the idea of countries kinda dissolves, while the locations all remain they become more so cities/towns all apart of the same thing again! Also with the server being "freed" the SMP starts gaining citizens after a bit! So actual populations for everywhere!!! Also totally not an excuse for me to make OCs, definitely not (I say like a liar)

- This is a good ending but also I will note it takes a while for a lot of people to become comfortable again with each other, and honestly I don't think there's a lot of forgiveness either, it's more so people choosing to move on from the past. So a lot of my ideas for shenanigans/light hearted stuff are written with the idea of it being like 2-3 years post 'ending'

Other Notes! Just some more miscellaneous thoughts honestly.

- Dream ends up as part of a syndicate as one would assume, Punz is considered an honorary member and of all people, Purpled also joins the ranks, he gets picked up by someone some time after the Las Nevadas finale and that leads to him joining them, whereas the other two show up later on.

- Pandora's Vault ends up being entirely renovated, it being pretty damn difficult now to tell what it was and turned into a proper home, it's a long process mostly headed by Sam in his long list of things he's done to "apologize" after having his world view shattered (he learns that the staged finale was, well, staged and has a mental crisis for like 3 weeks over that and realizing he is, in fact, the bad guy) also his plot goes slightly differently, being based on a roleplay I have going rn! Generally Sam returns to the Vault initially to hide out from people/so they'll 'get over' him being a shit person and it leads into him eventually siding with and eventually ending up with Dream (Awesamdrunz is a dynamic that is borderline crack to me and yes it's going in here) - this is the main factor that changes stuff with the nuke part of the og ending, as Tommy and Tubbo get effectively curb stomped by Sam when they attempt to kill Dream the first time around and don't really try it again.

- While it takes a bit, DTeam do reunite, it's shaky at first (especially with Dream's chosen partners, Punz is pretty neutral as always - he's good at keeping his opinions to himself even if he tends to clash with Sap a lot. As for Sam, well, it's more so that Sapnap and George rightfully hate his fucking guts for awhile) but they have bi-weekly if not more meet-ups to hang out and do things like they used to. They end up eventually building another community house somewhere between Kinoko and the main SMP, this one being more so just a designated hang out.

- Bad ends up taking over looking after a lot of the main server, especially with new arrivals. He's kinda a one-man welcome committee and does a pretty good job. He also tries to host little get togethers now and again (mostly for DTeam/The Manhunt Crew and whoever they wanna bring along) also you cannot tell me that he wouldn't have like weekend bake sales as the SMP gains a proper population. Someone needs to enjoy the muffins.

- Wilbur & Tommy end up making their own book club to rival the syndicate cause both of them aren't allowed in Techno's fancy book club (they think it's an actual book club, so yeah). Sam gets roped into it one day when he shows up to pick up Dream & Punz, Tubbo inevitably gets roped in as well. It's a time and they insist on using Phil's living room for meetings. Phil hates this - also Sam's 8ft ass can barely fit in the room, it's very cramped for him.

---

I've got more but those will be going to the other ask I've got :)

[bao3bei4]

zine finance and fulfillment

hi everyone. now that i’ve completed the “spending money” part of “yaoi zine 2” (for the most part. i hope nothing gets lost in the mail, although i’ve resigned myself to it), i thought i would make a long boring post about zine finance and fulfillment. this is because people talk about it less than other parts of zine making online. so i hope this will be of interest or use to at least one person.

none of this should be new to anyone who’s ran a zine before, but my hope is to give people who are interested in it some food for thought so that we have more cool zines that i can buy. 

before we begin. a brief disclaimer: i am kind of half-assed about good zine finance hygiene. that is to say, i keep the money in my personal checking account, i don’t have a llc, etc. i do declare zine income on my taxes (i write it almost all of it off, since i only make not-for-profit zines). this is because i am twenty three years old and i have a small scale operation. i recognize and acknowledge that i do not follow best practices, and someone else should write a long boring post about what all best practices entails. 

this post is about how i price my zines, and my workflow for fulfillment. that’s all it is. i hope that it is useful for anyone else trying to cheaply and quickly make and sell maybe 150 zines or so to their friends and followers. 

so i do a sort of stupid model for my zines, which is that i charge a flat rate to send a zine anywhere in the world. this is a stupid model because, in the case of “yaoi zine 2,” the “real cost” of sending one zine to the united states is $11.58. the “real cost” to send a zine to, say, the united kingdom is $24.20. you may notice that this means it actually costs me five dollars and twenty cents every time someone in the united kingdom buys a zine, as i priced the zines at $19 each. this is generally a horrible business model. as i write this now, i am realizing that i really should have made the zines $24, steep as it is. just because yikes. -$5.20. 

but i like doing it this way because it feels fairer. and also because i’m the sole proprietor of “tshirt zines” and i can do whatever i want. i just am commenting that i cannot ethically tell you to adopt this model, since i’ve signed the hippocratic oath. this is because you need to be okay with using your personal funds to cover any losses that you take as a result of this model. this is true for all zines, but like. especially here. 

back to the matter at hand. how did i arrive at that $19 number, knowing that i would lose money on at least some sales? 

there are basically four components i keep in mind: shipping materials (think envelopes, labels, toner for my printer), printing cost (i just call up printers and ask for estimates), shipping cost (i’ll talk more about this in a sec), and stripe fees (.029 * price + 0.30 atm). use a spreadsheet to keep them straight. 

i went over budget on shipping materials because i last minute decided to make little freebie one page zines and burned through a bunch of toner in the process, so we won’t talk about that. this one is simple, anyway. you know how to figure out the price of mailing envelopes.

printing cost. i like working with local printers, if i can. if the zine is too big for me to print at home, but small enough it can be saddle stitched, i’ve worked with lightning press here in the bay area, and keith has never let me down. great guy. for perfect bound zines, like “yaoi zine 2,” i used mixam.com. i wasn’t the biggest fan, quite a few zines came a little bent or warped (this is why you order extra. that and in case they get lost in the mail). keith would NEVER do that to me. i’ve also heard good things about bookmobile, but i was keeping it simple for this printing. dm me if you’ve used them. 

anyway, all told, the price of an individual zine shipped to me, taxes and everything was $6.14. i estimated that it would cost $6.

shipping cost. so since i do aforementioned stupid model, i have to arrive at a number. PERSONALLY. the number i PERSONALLY have arrived at. based on my particular following. after doing five internationally shipped zines, is that i can usually expect 70% domestic orders, 30% international. i guesstimate the weight of the zine by stacking and weighing other zines i have until i get a decent facsimile (NB you should probably just weigh your proof but i wanted to expedite the timeline), and then i check these charts. peep the “large envelope” numbers. 

domestic: https://pe.usps.com/text/dmm300/Notice123.htm#_c037 

international: https://pe.usps.com/text/dmm300/Notice123.htm#_c341

i actually used media mail for my domestic orders, this time, because of the size. so it cost $3.92 to mail one zine domestically, and rounding between all the zones, i guessed that it would cost $16 for most international zines. 

i then did the following equation (0.7 * 3.92) + (0.3 *16) = $7.24

actually i’m lying. i did (0.7 * 3) + (0.3 *12) = $5.70 because i underestimated the weight of the zine so that’s on me. i rounded that number to $6. 

“what about canada” shipping to canada is actually basically the same cost as that mean zine shipping cost. so they don’t actually affect my calculations at all. 

stripe fees. self explanatory. remember them, though. 

anyway. zine price = shipping materials + printing cost times two + averaged shipping cost + stripe fees. 

now, you may notice that i underestimated a lot of things. how did i break even? three reasons. 

first, LUCK! that’s right. my ratio this time was skewed more in the favor of us zines than international zines, about 80-20. who knows why. probably the strong us dollar atm made it cost prohibitive for many people. geopolitics strikes again.

and second, actually i made about $580 profit, that i had to disburse. i was never actually in danger of losing money, because of that “printing cost times two” i skipped over really fast. the purpose of that is to cover printing and shipping free copies for all contributors. i arrived at the number two because 1) according to oomf that’s apparently standard, 2) it’s a nice round number, and 3) if i sold 50 copies (my original lowball estimate of how many i would sell) that was my break even number to print contributor copies.

$580/$12.88 (my actual raw cost of a zine, without stripe fees) = about 45. i had 21 contributors, so after mailing them out zines, i had around $300 profit, or 24 zines worth of it, left. this is where the money for the giveaway zines came from!

third. i also had some profit from selling “yaoi zine 1” again which HADN’T gone over my estimate. because i’d shipped them before. this helped pay me back for all the extra expenses. 

let’s talk about more logistics. i use bigcartel for my storefront because it’s free. that’s literally the only reason why. i use stripe instead of paypal because to make it a business account (and not expose my legal name to everyone) i would have needed to update my account with an id and that would reveal to them that i created my paypal account when i was 13. stripe has no such problem for me. 

i fulfilled orders this time using “pirate ship” because, again, free. in the past i’ve used shipstation + stamps dot com combo, because that afaik is the only bigcartel integrated service that allows you to buy letter mail postage (i want to send them as letters, not packages, because it’s cheaper). but that you have to pay money for, or use the free trial. since i was using media mail this time, pirate ship was good enough for me. 

when all of the zines arrived at my house i began stuffing envelopes and printing labels with the help of a lovely friend. don’t do this alone you EITHER get really bored or you slip into that sports manga ass trance that anyone who’s ever done repetitive labor has experienced and the day blips by. instead i had fun with a friend.

now. there is no way. as far as i know. to buy international letter mail stamps online. this is because you are not supposed to use it for your online store because you can only send things with a value of $0. and they have to be documents. so using them for zines is really skirting legality here unforch. 

WHAT I DO INSTEAD. i go to the closest post office with that pitney bowes machine, and i monopolize it printing postage. yeah. go at an off time. BE PREPARED to annoy everyone else at the post office. let them take turns with you obviously, but there will be some mean old lady who will make a snarky comment about you so stay fucking safe. 

 i think that’s everything i have to explain about my process. go make a zine. and consider selling it. 

[teronap]

So, after a week of ffxiv's new Occult Crescent, it seems good! I still prefer Bozja, but part of that is "I turned up to Eureka/Bozja several years after they were finished, never mind released" so I had All The Mechanics And Shortcuts Avaliable, rather than this being part 1 of a 2-to-3 part release.

Good points:

Very pretty! I'd prefer slightly more _varied_ terrain, but it's leaps and bounds above Bozja as a zone to spend a lot of time in.

Does some neat things with 5th Astral Era stuff (although it aiui doesn't have any extra dialog for scholar, who feels very relevant, or Black/White mage)

Phantom jobs are cool! Between "thematically linked suite of abilities" and "don't need to farm or shell out gold to keep up with ability usage" (ignoring Chemist :) ) they're a lot more new-player-friendly. (Not been able to work out any great combos yet though)

Demiatma as a grind that mostly just Happens While Enjoying Occult Crescent - I'll likely go do some normal FATEs to round out a few, but it's not _meant_ to be a thing you knock out in an afternoon, although I'll be unsuprised if they reduce requirements/increase droprates later (I've got 2/3rds of the way there just messing with getting some phantom jobs levelled)

Other thoughts:

It feels small compared to Bozja or Eureka, but it does good things with the space

CEs feel... easier? Certainly they feel no harder than normal mode raid bosses, while the memorable Bozja ones were "beefed up alliance raid boss" at least (Black Chocobo feels trivial compared to Red). OTOH Dawntrail has increased the difficulty floor of bosses, so it might be that.

Things I don't like:

There's no real choice of where to go as there's only one fate and one CE up at a time at most - in eureka you were going "ok what can I spawn", and in Bozja there were a bunch of things up.

That feeds into my one problem with Demiatma in that there's no way to _direct_ farming a particular demiatma type, as you might as well do _all_ the fates/ces that come up

The FATEs have wonky scaling atm - it's quite often "get there within a minute of spawn or they will have been melted and done"

It's tricky to work solo as DPS, as the avaliable passive toughness-increasing buffs aren't _enough_ to support that. Even Phantom Knight isn't sufficient (_and_ takes up your phantom job slot).

The challenge dungeon thingy feels like something that'll get siloed off to discord rather than Bozja's "just go in"/"partyfinder outside the instance" stuff.

The caster hat looks _astoundingly_ stupid. Stupid enough that (combined with tanks being better to solo with than dps) I'm tempted to get the tank gear (not great, but I can make work for Warrior) instead, despite largely playing Red Mage.